Therapy
by robspace54
Summary: Before Doc Martin Series 7 things were happening off screen... So just why did Rachel Timoney end up in Cornwall?
1. Chapter 1

**Therapy**

by Robspace54

 **The characters, places and situations of _Doc Martin,_ are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story makes no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

 **Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated.**

I looked at my patient and knew, just knew, that this would be my most challenging case. Lord, I thought, not another one.

"So," I began, "Since we both have medical degrees, perhaps I ought to ask you if using first names would make you feel more?"

"More what?" the woman snapped, then she continued to twist the short hair over her right ear, but seeing me notice the motion, she dropped her hand to her lap. "Do you think that I want to be here? Do you? And first names would make this process all soft and warm? Squishy and comfy? I do not think that first names would be… suitable."

"Of course not." I looked at the pad in my lap, where I had jotted a few notes based on her answers on the standard patient form. "And you are at St Thomas."

She nodded slowly. "It was the Head of Staff who suggested you to me. Claimed you were… useful."

I gave her a small smile. "I try to be."

"As do I." She peered around my exam room. "A lot of books." A large bookcase covered the longest wall and the shelves were packed full of books. The other three walls held in order, two windows, a door to my inner office next to a side table with a fake fern and an antique lamp on it, and then the door to my waiting room.

I followed her gaze. "Most came with the rooms. I haven't actually had much time to sort them."

She stood, went to the largest and inspected a shelve at her eye level, then she ran a finger over the bindings. "No dust at least."

I wondered if she was germophobic, or perhaps had OCD. "My cleaners do a good job."

She peered at some of the bindings. "Seaweed of the Southern Ocean," she read aloud. "Constellations of the Zodiac. Tenzing and Hillary on Everest." She moved a few feet to her left. "Ah, here are the medical books."

"Those are mine."

She turned and smirked at me. "Since you have a medical degree you must have books. Unless you have explored the world and are doing psychiatry as a side-line."

I put my pad down on the table at my side, placed my pen on it just so, then primly crossed my legs, and leaned forward. "Let's not start off sparring."

She came back to my visitor's chair, sat down, and then placed her black leather pumps, with the rhinestone buckles close together. "Yes. That would be a waste of my time." She tipped her head to one side. "How old are you?"

"Thirty-two." Why does everyone ask me how old I am?

"And new to London."

"I was away for a time, but I have returned to resume my practice here, yes."

"Climbing Mt. Everest, no doubt."

"Not quite," I said, but at times it had felt like it. I took a small breath and examined her more carefully. Her dress was demure, well groomed; the only flamboyant bit might be her shoe buckles. She wore makeup not to excess, but there just enough so you knew she wore it. Her nails were finely shaped and well-polished.

She blinked her blue eyes once and then she stared straight at me. "You have an impressive CV."

"Thank you. But this session is about you." And yes, you do as well. Google and Wikipedia are the banes of doctors but technology can be useful and I had done my homework on _you_.

I glanced at my notebook, then back at her. "Gynaecology at St. Thomas."

"Infertility mostly. Plus, research."

One of the four words she spoke set my alarm bells ringing, and it wasn't 'mostly', 'plus' or 'research'. I felt a dull ache begin behind my left eye. "Are you good at it?"

"Oh yes; quite good. _Very_ good I must say. My pregnant patients don't complain – that is after I and my team are able to pull off virtual miracles in some of their cases. You know – career women in their late 40's or older who then decide they want to experience the joys of motherhood." She shook her head and smiled. "Most are well past their sell-by date but we do what we can for them." Her hand rose and she patted her hair. "And I must say that we do a lot."

"And you are clearly very proud of your medical accomplishments?" I asked. I picked up my notebook and made a quick note.

"Quite right."

I tried to smile at her. "Successful career then."

Her eyes flashed. "Oh yes."

"Personal life as well?"

Her head flipped into a ninety-degree left turn and I saw her hands clutch one another. "Certainly," she hissed.

I wrote a small note, looking away to give a moment. When I looked back at her she was staring at me. Her lips quivered. "I…"

"Why have you come to see me?"

Her face screwed itself into a strange contortion and then reasserted itself into a normal human face. "Right."

I held my words and was rewarded when she told me, "I was rejected, it seems. I think."

"By?"

Dr. Edith Montgomery sighed before she answered. "You see Dr. Timoney long ago I was engaged, well almost, and then I wasn't for I went to Canada for my training, and then I returned to England. Worked in London, then York, and then," she took a deep breath. "And then quite by accident I saw him."

"And it did not go well."

She began to chew her lip and for a moment I thought I saw a tear form in one perfect eye, but she blinked it away. "What do you do when that happens?"

I leaned forward. "And you are not coping well."

"No. I can't _think_ , I can't _work_ , and I can't _eat_ or _sleep_. It's been bloody awful! And now he won't take my calls." Her hand nervously touched her ginger locks.

I kept a blank expression. "That can be difficult." Yes, it can be bloody awful I thought, and for a moment the face of Ben Sizemore flashed into my mind. I picked up my notebook. "Tell me about it."

She stared at a point somewhere above my right shoulder and began to speak.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 – Problem

"I hadn't imagined that I'd ever run into him again, although I did have a passing interest in the surgical papers he had written over the years. And I must say that he was a brilliant surgeon."

As she spoke it was quite clear that she had more than admiration for the man in question. It was only a minor step from admiration to adoration. "You were attracted to that – his profession. A surgeon."

"Vascular is his specialty." She blinked at me and smiled. "Attracted? Yes. He has a fabulous mind." She stared at me closely. "And I owe him a great debt for the tutoring he gave me when we were in medical school."

"I see." I wrote down in my notebook – study partner. Sex partners soon after?

Her eyes took on a faraway look. "He could master anything he desired. A true polymath, however his experience of the outside world was limited. But his skill with a scalpel was remarkable."

"Limited in what way?"

She cocked her head. "Not very good with social cues. Quiet and repressed. Not very good dealing with women at all. That seems to go along with the territory. Don't you agree?"

"A lack of social skills does not _necessarily_ correlate one-to-one to high intelligence or vice-versa." I jotted down – preconceived notions?

Dr. Montgomery smiled a sly smile. "You know he was quite awkward in the bedroom, at first."

"You and he were sex partners?"

Her smile got wider. "After I was certain that we were suited."

"Suited?" I wrote – a good judge of character or very sure of herself?

"Yes. We shared a body at school. _Cadaver_ that is." She sighed. "I always say that you can judge a man by how he handles bodies."

I stared at her.

"Joke," she retorted. "But there is some truth to it. I have found that doctors who are brusque with patients can be quite aggressive when the clothes come off. And the opposite is generally true."

I wrote down – sexually experienced. "Go on."

She leaned back in her chair. "But this man? Factual to a fault. Knew all the anatomy terms well before we cut into Francis; that's what he named our cadaver. And that was our first year at school."

"You said he was inexperienced."

"Yes, but also shy in a surprising way. I was his first; first real girlfriend." She bit her lip. "Fabulous mind, but very gentle with me." Her eyes twinkled. "No complaints on that score. But oh my word, if you are a fool?" She snapped her fingers. "Cut you to bits like that with just a few words. Quite terrifying to see."

I looked at my notes and they confirmed the impression I had of this woman. She was a user. She used this doctor for tutoring, kept him close with sex, and then? "Your relationship did not continue after school."

She sighed. "He had bought me a ring, even got down on one knee. It was all very pathetic. That ended of course when I went to Toronto. That's in Canada."

"I know where Toronto is. In what way was he pathetic?"

She shook her head. "He was needy and if I slighted him in any way he'd be sullen and withdrawn. Or at other moments he'd get very angry."

"But you told me he was shy. Sometimes shy people know what they want, but it's hard for them to express their desires, and fearing rejection they may not say anything at all."

She nodded. "I wish I'd had this talk with you twenty years ago. I think you might have an excellent insight on his nature."

"Only from what you have told me." And this was very two-dimensional view of the man. "Who is he?"

She bit her lip. "I'd rather not tell you."

"is he in London?"

"No." She looked at the floor. "However, you may be on the something." I watched as she seemed to mull this over then she looked up, her eyes shining. "So there may be hope yet."

"Pardon?"

"If he can't, or won't, tell me what he wants, then there still may be hope."

I nodded slowly. "Perhaps, but then again perhaps not."

Her blue eyes bored into mine. "Dr. Timoney I am quite certain that he wants _me_ and not the _other_ one."

"Ah." Another woman I wrote. "There was competition."

"In more ways than one. He got her pregnant," she snapped.

"Yes, that _would_ be a complication. But it does take two people to make a baby."

She glared at me. "Don't you think I know that?"

"Do this man and the other woman have some sort of continuing relationship?"

Dr. Montgomery sighed, in an almost human way. "It appears so. That is a problem."

"Are they still together?"

She sighed even more deeply. "I believe so."

As I looked at her rigid face and stiff posture, the more obvious it seemed that she was putting up a brave front, for her hands twisted into one another like a nest of nervous snakes.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 – Personal

I looked down at my fragmentary notes. So far, she'd spoken about this doctor and her all too obvious use of and present infatuation of him, nothing about herself. I checked the clock on the wall. Not much time was left in this session.

"Dr. Montgomery, can you tell me something about yourself?"

"I already have."

"Something about your upbringing; your childhood."

"Is that necessary?"

"Yes."

She shook her head, but blowing air from her thin nose she said, "I was the second child. I have a brother, _had_ , nine years older. He's dead."

"How old was he when he died?"

"Thirty-seven. A fall and cerebral edema, they thought." Her fingers went white as she squeezed her hands together.

"And you were…"

"I was Canada; during my training."

I wrote down his age at his death. "Were you close?"

"Not especially – the age difference." She grimaced. "He was out of the house at boarding school during most of my childhood and then he was at uni." She shook her head. "Aaron, his name was Aaron. Quite a brilliant geologist, or so I understand." Her hands released each other. "Not my field." Her eyes then looked alarmed by something.

"Something else?" I asked.

Her voice was soft as she said, "I always think it ironic that his name means High Mountain in Hebrew. You see, he died on Lhotse."

"I'm sorry, that is?"

"The fourth highest mountain on Earth. He was up at 6,500 meters. Over 20,000 feet." Her eyes took on a faraway look. "He's still up there."

My pen hovered over the paper. "I am sorry."

She winced. "So older brother died in his fourth great adventure in the Himalayas." The clock ticked and I watched as Dr. Montgomery seemed to gather herself. Her hands flew apart, and then pressed themselves onto her knees while she looked at the floor.

"He was an achiever, like you," I told her.

Her face came up and her face was livelier, so I must have said the proper thing. "Oh yes." I watched as she took slow breaths. "He was an expert on glaciation."

"Did he have a family?"

"No."

"Your parents?"

"Daddy is a lecturer in physiology, now retired. PhD, not an MD. He left that up to me," she added smugly. "Mummy is a society wife. They now live in Majorca." She smiled. "I believe a lifetime of winters in Birmingham convinced them to seek warmer climes after daddy retired."

Birmingham, I wrote. "Are you close to your parents?"

She pursed her lips. "Not really. The occasional phone call. Small gifts sent at Hanukah. Their birthdays; that sort of thing."

I scribbled a quick note about her parents.

She leaned forward. "We Montgomery's aren't exactly the chummy sort."

"You? Are you chummy?"

She bowed her head "Oh yes. I am. I have friends, from the hospital, people from the West End, you know."

I looked her up and down. "Give me an idea of your typical day."

"I rise early. Prepare for the day, have a quick breakfast, then by car to the hospital. Check my emails and the schedule, consult on my patients, mornings are IVF, suffer my way through the occasional staff meeting. Surgery consults as needed in the PM. Then I have supper out and to home. I get to the health center twice a week. Swimming one night, then a run and weights the other. I eat a late dinner, and then read journals until midnight." She smiled. "Then do it again. I'm working on research about fertility rates amongst professional women. That's been taking some time."

There was that word again. "You stay very busy."

"Five days a week. But I keep weekends for myself. I see friends, drink wine, or go to a play."

"Since… the… breakup?"

"Yes. Upon returning to London, I have pretty much kept that routine."

"How long?"

"How long what?"

"How long has it been since you spoke with your gentleman friend? The one that…."

She looked up to inspect the ceiling. "Four months," she moaned nearly inaudibly. "That was face-to-face. I thought… I thought he'd be coming up to London. But he didn't." Her eyes swept down to face mine. "So," her voice shook, "here I am, speaking to you about him. And when I call his mobile he won't answer."

 **Author's Note:**

 **Now you see that this tale is told just a few months after the birth of James Henry at the end of Doc Martin Series 4, long before Dr. Timoney showed up in Cornwall.**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4 - Happy

What was I to say to this woman? I looked her straight in the eye. "You say that he has a child with this other woman."

"Apparently," she sniffed, her face blank.

"But you said you were Canada, and then back in the UK for some time. How long has it been in all?"

She sighed. "Around 25 years."

"And during that time had you contacted him, or him you?"

"No."

"But when you saw him…"

"Quite by accident."

"Your feelings of long ago just… _emerged_ once more?"

"I suppose so." She crossed her trim ankles and then looked at her watch. "How much longer will this go on?"

I looked at the prominent clock on the wall. "Only a few minutes."

"No," she waved her hands about. "How many more sessions?"

"That depends, Dr. Montgomery. You said you have been anxious."

"Very."

"And you wish to be over your anxiety."

"God yes, at a minimum."

I stared at my notes to fill the void while I rapidly thought. What could I tell her? "It may be able to reduce your anxiety levels, however…"

"However, what?"

"What are your goals? I don't usually treat patients just because they have fallen out of love," she glared at me, "or have had an unhappy relationship, or had one which has been ended."

She looked at me open-mouthed. "I…"

"Dr. Montgomery you are clearly very intelligent, so you may agree with me that for you to 'just bump into' the fellow after a 25-year gap and then you expect the flames of love would erupt like that? And that he would reciprocate with equal ardor?"

Her mouth closed and I saw as she seemed to struggle with herself. "But we're both doctors, we were in school together…"

"You refused his appeal of marriage over two decades ago and now?" I shrugged. "Just start up again? You tell me if that is realistic or idealistic?"

"But he's so well suited to me!" she protested. "Yes, I didn't marry him… then."

"For your career, you say."

"That part is true."

"What part isn't true?"

She stood, crossed to the window, put her hands on the window moulding and peered out. "All those people," she said.

"What?"

She turned and gave me a half smile. "All those people down there; all those lives scurrying on with their jobs and loves, yet I chose to ditch, 25 years back, the one man who might have made me happy."

Bells started to going off in my head. A-ha. The moment of truth. Reality just encroached upon my exam room. "You're not happy."

From the window she replied. "Appears not."

I wrote UNHAPPY in block letters. "So, when you saw him again? How did you feel?"

She returned to my visitor's chair and standing behind it gripped the back of it tightly, for I could see her knuckles go white. Her face looked much paler, accentuating her blue eyes. They looked less icy now, more human. "I thought my heart would burst," she giggled. "Doesn't that sound silly?"

That's how it feels, dear Doctor. Your heart trying to leap out of your chest. "No, not silly at all."

"I'd like to begin to treat your anxiety, for that may help you to gain a sense of…" I almost said _perspective_ , but said instead, "clarity." The words may have similar associations but mean different things; clarity implying to see things as they are, whilst perspective can mean a comparative outlook.

Time was up, so I opened my scheduler. "Can you come see me in ten days' time? I have an opening at 4:30."

She reached down and took up her handbag, fishing her mobile out of it. She poked at it. "That would be?"

"On the 17th."

She stared at the mobile. "I could just make half five? Have to juggle a few things."

I sighed. "Fine. Five thirty on the 17th." I scribbled on an appointment slip, then gave it to her along with my business card. "My office number is here in case you get into difficulties. You can always reach me after-hours for I have a service for emergencies."

She smiled grimly. "In the meantime?"

"Eat regularly, exercise, do what you are doing, however, I do recommend you try not to obsess over the matter."

She dropped the cards and mobile into her bag and closed it with a snap. "Dr. Timoney, that's like trying to tell a drug addict not to think about getting a fix." She nodded. "Thank you for your time. I'll see you on the 17th then."

I bade her goodbye and she walked out. It was end of the day so I typed up the visit notes, checked the email, found I'd been accepted to present a second paper at next month's conference, which was good news. It gave me other things to think about.

I watered the ferns, then locked up the office. She was unhappy, well do tell. I walked around to the Indian place, bought my usual tandoori chicken and rice, and then walked the eight blocks to my flat. The mail in box was the usual fluff, so I binned it all. I used the loo, and then opened the takeaway box to eat my lonely meal.

As I ate I pondered my last patient. "Unhappy?" I said aloud. "Welcome to the club, Dr. Montgomery. Who _is_ happy?"


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5 - Connections

After I binned the paper cartons which had held my dinner, I poured myself a second cup of tea, and looking at my watch, I sighed for I knew my mobile would be ringing in just a few seconds. As predicted it started to ping just as set the kettle down. Sighing once more, I picked up the phone and stared at the lit panel. "Mum," I read. I pushed the button. "Hullo mummy."

"Oh Rachel how are things?" mum's voice came from the tiny speaker.

"Same as last week. I'm fine."

"Oh. Right."

I let the silence grow.

She went first. "Oh, dad says I should let you know he enjoyed your last email. The one with your latest paper."

"Good. I thought he'd enjoy it; the manuscript."

"The weather's good… here. I imagine it's…"

Rain pattered on my window. "The usual outside." Another lovely early autumn London evening.

"Of course. And how are you, I mean really?"

She asked me this every week. Every Tuesday night; the same question, the same roundabout patter always coming back to her question.

"Busy."

"Good, I mean, better to be busy than to be not busy and have time on your hands."

"My patients are…" What could I tell her? They were anxious, neurotic, confused, and went all the way to deranged and required sectioning. At least none of mine were a threat to themselves, or anyone else, as far as I knew. "Needy."

Mum laughed. "Oh Rachel, aren't we all from time to time? Speaking of which, what about…"

Here it comes.

"Has he?"

I had to grit my teeth.

"I mean," she went on, "has he called?"

"Mum, I have to go. My other line is ringing," I lied.

"Oh, yes, Bye then. Love you."

"Yes. Love you too mum. Love to dad." I disconnected the call and then I had to sit down for a while.

The wallpaper pattern had flowers and vines - roses, green leaves with stems and vines, but no thorns. If you looked at the join of the wall with the ceiling and followed the pattern down to the floor, it was all interconnected; all tied together by swooping chains of green vines and branches. One thing led to other and the next and who knew where it all started or ended? I bit my lip. That was my job though, to see through the pattern to find the beginning and to sort it all out. But seeing, or hearing, the problem is quite easy. The wife wrings her hands and tells me that she thinks her husband is having it off with his new secretary, or the banker is equally concerned to the point of resigning his job fearing he's been passed over for a promotion, while the bosses' cousin just got moved into the choice corner office.

I had no power to change any part of reality, only to try and to influence my patients to see the pattern of vines and to aid them as they make their way through the maze. Of course some of the mazes were filled with traps, pitfalls, and crocodiles, ending with a long gauntlet of hungry lions, tigers, and bears to be run.

Some were easy; but most hard. A few I had to pass on to a clinical psychiatrist who could prescribe mood altering drugs. Fortunately there were plenty of those to rely on. My tea had gone cold during my reverie, but I picked up the little bottle on the shelf, pried off the cap, and took out one of the diazepam tablets, and threw it into my mouth. I was washing the Valium down with cold tea when my mobile rang again.

"Mum, what now?" I muttered. I answered the call, ready to bite her head off, when I heard his voice.

"Rachel?" Ben Sizemore said softly. "It's me."

It had been far too long since I heard his voice. Did I want to now? I ought to just ring off - break the connection.

"Can we talk for a few minutes?" he asked.

I made a sound of assent, which was more of a grunt than anything.

He cleared his throat. "I… how are you?"

That was the question. "I'm fine Ben."

I could hear him breathing for nearly a minute. "Rachel, thank you for talking to me. I didn't think that you would."

"What do you want, Ben?" I snapped.

"I called to see… well to see… uhm… to find out…" I heard him gulp. "Are you well? After…"

Just this morning, well actually not just this morning, but _every_ morning, I ran my fingers along the scar. It stretched from one hip bone to the other in a shallow arc below my belly button. Behind the thin pink scar was where the surgeons had to take out one or two things; and in the process not only save my life but to also end it - or at least part of it.

"I've healed, Ben," I told him, trying to sound truthful, but even I didn't believe it.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6 - Zoo

"It's true," I added. "The incision is healed now." It sounded so damn clinical. _The_ incision.

He cleared his throat. "Good Lord, Rachel. I am so sorry."

I blinked back a tear or two as I asked, "Ben, what do _you_ want _me_ to say?"

"I… I don't want you to say anything that you don't want to. How are you feeling?"

So, dear Rachel, I asked myself, what do you want to say to him? That you wished that none of it happened? I chewed that over. No, no, that wasn't it. Then what? Unbidden, my mouth moved, saying, "How are you?"

He sighed. "Busy."

"Me as well."

"Good that you are back to work. What was it? A few weeks off work?"

My memories of those horrid days came back, but I pushed them away. "I needed, uhm, need to work. So where are you just now?"

He chuckled. "Rome this week and next week Athens. It's raining."

"Rain is falling here as well."

"London weather," he snickered. "Rarely without a mackintosh."

"Warmer there than here I am sure. But the forecast shows it getting dryer later in the week." Now I'm giving him the forecast. "Not that you would care about that."

He laughed. "No, no, I do, strangely enough." He must have leaned back in the chair for I heard a creak. Then he sighed. "Oh, Rachel, I wish…"

"Yes, me too." I looked at dishes on the counter. "Dinner's over so I'd better get busy."

"Work?"

"I am writing a new paper on anxiety treatments." It's a load of rubbish, I knew that, but I was committed to getting the thing in print. So I had better work hard so it was NOT rubbish.

He laughed. "Plenty of business about on that score. Some of my mates… well, far from home, right? Not that there aren't a _lot_ of distractions, but it's not _home_."

"Right. But that's part of your business, working for the FCO." The Foreign and Commonwealth Service sounded rather hoity-toity but I knew he was involved with things he could not share, such as security and peacekeeping. "Your days in the SAS must come in handy," I said teasingly.

"Let's not talk about my work. I do miss, uh…" he paused. "England."

He could have said he missed me, but that wasn't _his_ way. "Nothing quite like the mother country, is there?"

"Decent fish and chips, a pint, and football on the telly. Isn't that what every Englishman wants?"

"Some do, I suppose." Stacks of two weeks' worth of dirty dishes glared at me from across the kitchen. "Ben I must get on… work, yes?"

"Rachel, I... uhm, well."

"Yes, Ben?"

"We do keep dancing around it don't we? Our elephant," he groaned bitterly.

"Elephant?" I shook my head. "What do you mean?"

He sighed softly. "In the room - an elephant in the room, camel in the tent, whatever you call it."

My hand fell to my flat belly and lingered there. "Pesky those elephants. Quite invisible at times." Certainly not now, and perhaps not ever. I listened to the hum on the line for a few seconds. What I would not give for things to have turned out differently. "So anyway… that paper is hiding in my head, and it won't write itself."

"I will take the weekend off. I'll come see you."

My heart went boom. "Up to London?"

"No _Timbuktu_. Of course London! Rachel… can I come see you? I'll… get a hotel, no pressure on that score."

My heart was now in my throat, pulse pounding. "No pressure, you say," I managed to say from a dry throat.

"I… I'd like to see you; for the last time was..."

"I had tubes coming out of me."

He sighed. "When your mum took me back to see you. I'd now idea, how much… how sick…" he gulped. "Knocked me off my pins. That was less than…"

"Fun," I told him. "But emergency surgery never is." I had a fuzzy memory of his hand holding mine and his blurry face, but soon after I got really sick, and when I was well enough to know what was happening, I was told he had left.

The silence between us came back, but then I heard typing. "I can get on a 5 PM flight Friday," he said. "I can probably get to town about 8… can we meet at your flat? Or at a restaurant, or a pub, or? Rachel, you decide."

I sighed. "My place is fine." Maybe it was time to talk about the elephant but perhaps not. But a nagging voice inside was telling me this was a mistake; this won't change anything.

"Talk can't hurt can it? That's your stock in trade. Talking."

"Ben, you're not one of my patients."

He laughed. "Rachel, I… I'll text you when I'm in town."

"Right."

"Have a good week."

"You too."

"Rachel, I want to say… that… uh, tell you, that…"

"Goodnight Ben," I told him, afraid to hear what he would say next. Then I disconnected the call. I only broke one dish doing the washing up.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7 – Listening

"Doctor? Dr. Timoney?" The voice finally got through to me.

"Yes?" I looked up to see my patient staring at me. Jerked back to the present and away from my thoughts, I smiled at him. "Sorry. Just thinking."

He (Mr. Stephen Bentley-Cross) cleared his throat stuffily. "Consider the money you are getting _paid_ to _listen_ to me, at least you could _pretend_ to do so." He shook his head. "Shall I continue or leave?" he asked archly.

I glanced at the notepad which was filled with doodles. I flipped the page over to a blank one.

"Such a lot of notes today. A lot of juicy things for my file?" he chuckled.

I forced a professional looking facial expression at him. "No."

"Yes, now as I _was_ saying, when I was about seven, no, no, I was six-and-a-half I got the distinct expression that my brother hated me."

"Your brother who is now an Anglican priest."

"Oh yes, the older one. Not the other one, he's a lorry driver, and given his on-again off-again alcohol abuse it's a wonder he can get work of any kind at all." Mr. Bentley-Cross muttered something else.

"What?"

"I was just wondering if the dreadful things dear old Timmy did to me he also did to Lawrence. He must have, don't you think?"

"Bullies can do that. Or they pick on who they think is the most vulnerable."

His lips quivered and started to cry. "I knew I was... different… from the start… even as a child of three or four. I was… sensitive."

I gave him a tissue and he started again to recount the story of his unhappy childhood. How many times did he feel it necessary to go back to the beginning. Oh well. Fortunately, my watch buzzed softly on my wrist. "Yes. Sorry Stephen, that's it for today."

He stood up, shot his cuffs, and then handed me the wadded-up tissue, although the bin sat next to his chair. "Right. Next week then?"

"As always." I squeezed the soggy tissue and wondered how many patients cried in my office in a week. One per day. No, more like three. Stephen was the second so far today.

He inclined his head. "Dr. Timoney, pardon, but you seem to be… wool-gathering. You're not doing very well, are you my child?"

Stephen was sixty, so anyone under forty was a 'child' to him. I didn't mind him using the word and he was a kind man, rather grandfatherly. I shrugged. "You know. Life."

He nodded, almost bowing. "Oh, my heavens yes. But what is the alternative?"

Knowing that this patient had been borderline suicidal when he was referred to me, I reached over with my free hand and touched his elbow. "But you are well."

His face lit up. "Thank you for noticing! Best be off. You have others waiting."

It was only two o'clock and yes, I had two more to go. "I do."

My next patient was fairly straight forward. Patricia Walker was student at uni, and she was conflicted about her studies, having just changed her major for the third time in two years. I listened while she vocally weighed the pros and cons of her present course of study (Philosophy) with her last (Mathematics). Her previous one had been Biology and the one before that History.

"I'm just not sure," she was saying. "It seems like I can't get my head around it. But I met the nicest fellow doing a Master's in Engineering…"

I groaned inside. "Are you are thinking about changing once more?"

"Or maybe take a gap year," she sighed. "He's off to Indonesia on a work assignment. "She grinned. "I hear the beaches are ever so nice out there."

"You may want to ask yourself just how long you can go on like this – changing."

She laughed. "You must think I'm daft. My father thinks so."

Parents, oh yes. "They have encouraged you to explore?"

"Mummy always said to be certain about things. Make my mind up. And I do start out that way. But then…" she shrugged, "it all goes off the rails."

I listened as she waxed about how handsome her engineer was, and how just sitting next to him in a pub made her feel somewhat settled. "So, ought I chuck it all? And follow him? What do you think?"

I remembered the first time Ben and I had snogged. Fine wine and bubbling hormones had made it seem so nice. "Er, I can't tell you that."

She chewed her lip. "No, I suppose not."

How can anybody tell another what to do? For not the first time I found myself re-evaluating my own life ad profession. "What works for one may not the proper course for another."

Patricia shook her head. "But how do we know? How can anyone know?"

I know what my mum would say. Have faith. I can't say that had necessarily stood me in good stead. "Patricia, I suggest that you not do anything hasty. Give it time, that is consider any actions for a while."

"Days?" she asked.

"I was thinking more _weeks_."

Her face fell. "But he leaves London at the end of the month! I have to decide! And quickly!"

"Hasty decisions may not be the best. Just think about it that way. Tell yourself you won't make a decision for two weeks. See how that feels." I was one to talk. "Just… don't jump into things unless you've thought out all the consequences."

She got up. "You're right. I'll do that. Take some time."

Time stalks us all in the end though, doesn't it? "Urgent impulse can have bad, or good, outcomes."

Patricia grinned. "That's the thing, isn't it? Bye." She struggled into her coat, leaving me to think about what I'd just heard.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8 - Decisions

Don't do anything hasty, that's what mum always said. Patricia Walker's problem was that she would jump from thing to thing, and all too hastily. Her words stayed in my head the rest of the week, right up to Friday. I never scheduled patients that day after noon, for who wanted to muck up their pre-weekend? I used that time for paperwork and my own needs - run errands as well. But tonight Ben would be in town, so closed the office promptly at noon, went home, and straightened up my flat. I had washed some laundry the night before, so I'd not have to bother with that.

Straightening my front room was easy, kitchen took longer, and my bedroom the longest. Cleaning and dusting then took an hour, including scrubbing the inside of the fridge, which made no sense, but it a bit grimy in there, so it was past time for a good cleaning. I carted a bag of rubbish and recycling to the bins in the basement, checked the mail (empty box today - the Postman was late), and then stopped for a breather.

Staying physically busy didn't stop my mind from whirring around the question of 'what about Ben?' as well as 'what to do about Rachel?'

By three I had got things pretty well sorted, fresh linens on the bed and clean towels in bath and a fresh sponge at the kitchen sink. Just in time for hot tea to wash down a cheese and tomato sandwich, carrots, and a bag of crisps, having had no lunch. Then I took a short nap, followed by a shower and a walk around the block. I had dithered over how to dress, finally picking gray cotton boot-cut trousers, my well-broken-in low-heeled black boots, and a magenta cowl-necked jumper. Scant makeup, the tiny gold studs in my ears, and my casual watch.

By the time I was done, I had plenty of time to spare. Leaving me time to kill, I was nervously waiting for Ben to text me. I was browsing through this quarter's Psychology Europe, just trying to kill time, when my eyes fell on article by one of my classmates from uni. Albert "Tom" Collins had written a piece titled 'Conflicting Goals in Counseling - Patient Needs vs. Desires - Modern Dilemmas.'

That's the rub, isn't it?

Take Ms. Sorensen, one of my older clients. She wanted, no needed, work recognition, so she had purposefully and diligently forsook nearly all relationships, child-bearing, and any free time, sacrificing all of it to get that big promotion. She got it in due course, but now at age fifty found herself alone and lonely, hating the international bank vice-president job she had worked for so long and hard. So what was I to do with that? Telling her to develop relationships away from work was difficult, if not impossible, for she now must work 65 hours a week to hang onto that cursed job.

I glanced at the clock. Only six PM. Ben ought to be in the air, making his way from Italian airspace into France, across the Channel and thence to Heathrow. Then he'd take the Tube to the station nearest my flat. What if he didn't come at all? Worse, what was I to say to him? Or do with him? And how to act? Shake his hand? Give him a hug or a kiss on the cheek? Pull the door open and wave him inside? Slap his face? Or collapse into a weeping mess?

What were my _needs_? Or my _desires_? I could hear mum's vice asking 'has he called?' Yes, mum, he has, and I even agreed to see him.

Suddenly the door signal pinged. Groaning, for the neighborhood had been pestered by salesmen of late, I rose and went to the panel. I pushed the button. "Yes? I'm not buying any, thanks!"

"Rachel?"

God it was Ben. "You're… uhm, early!"

"Yes! I hopped on an RAF courier flight. No time to call, and then my mobile battery was flat." I heard the hiss of traffic on the wet street behind him. "May I? Uhm… will you let me in?"

I closed my eyes, then pressed the unlock vestibule button. "Come up."

I could hear slow footsteps up the two flights. Mine was an old building and had no lift, not that he would use it. Ben kept himself fit and he eschewed lifts as often as he could.

I braced myself mentally. "Just open the door, you goose," I said aloud. "Let him go through." My sweaty hand flipped open the bolts, turned the handle and tugged the door open.

His shadow was half a flight below, for I could see it on the wall. Ben was a large man, and he carried himself like the soldier he once had been; straight of back, head held high, and his long legs eating up the ground. Here he was chugging along like a train on a straight track, sure of his route.

What was I to say to the man? He rounded the bend on the landing, and he looked up. His Mac was wet and he carried a small case.

Seeing me he smiled and then he bounded up the last few steps to my door.

I opened the door wide and stood aside. "Raining, I see."

He nodded, his blue eyes darting side-to-side a little. "Yes. Not too bad."

At the threshold he stopped. "Sorry I'm early."

"Come in," I managed to say. There were drops of water on his sandy blonde hair. "You got a haircut," I said stupidly. What an inane thing to say!

He smoothed what was there. "I didn't think you'd appreciate the untidy look. Besides, best to look my best - the job."

Suddenly there was no air in the room, or at least I couldn't seem to get any of it. "Right…" I managed to croak, "Set your case there, and give me your Mac."

He put his case down, shrugged out of his wet coat and when he gave it to me our hands touched. I felt the right jolt down to my toes.

"Rachel…" he started to say, but I put my hand to his lips.

"No. Don't."

He winced. "What can I say? Nothing to make things right, I am sure."

I hung up his coat then turned to face him. He wore a gray suit, the coat and trousers rumpled from his journey, but his white shirt was brilliantly set off by a red tie, fastened in a perfectly symmetrical Windsor knot. His shoes were brilliantly shined as always. "You look… good."

He nodded. "You look good too."

I looked hard at the man who had made me pregnant, quite by accident. For a brief while he had been the father of my child - _our_ child. I didn't even know that I was pregnant, until my ectopic pregnancy ruptured my right Fallopian tube, sending me to A&E hemorrhaging and in shock. And of course there were complications; Fallopian tube on the right taken out of course and later on peritonitis and sepsis, causing loss of right ovary, 25 centimeters of large bowel, plus other bits of peritoneal lining (bits and bobs, the surgeon called them.). Snippets of Rachel Timoney; never to be gotten back.

Looks can be deceiving, Ben. Good Ben? I'm hanging on by a thread. I shrugged and took a deep breath. "But you're here. I'm glad," I managed to say fighting back tears I had promised myself I would not shed. I had decided to play it cool and calm, but now I was shaking in my shoes.

Ben stared at the floor and then he looked up and reached out his hand, so I took it.

"Rachel, what do you - we - should we do?" he asked.

I shook my head. "Tea? Or something stronger?"

He nodded. "Whiskey." Then he turned and closed the door to the hall.

"Right."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9 – Distance

Ben swirled the whiskey in his glass, then looked sideways at me from the sofa across the room. "Thank you for seeing me."

I bit my lip, and then responded, "I suppose… that we ought to at least talk." I was perched in my overstuffed chair as far as I could be from him. Best, I thought, to keep some distance between us.

He sipped his whiskey and sighed.

"I hope you agree."

He took a bigger drink. "You're not drinking?"

I shook my head. "Drinking alcohol while taking antidepressant medication is contraindicated."

"Oh Rachel."

"It's fine. Really."

He sprang to his feet, nearly spilling his whiskey. "Fine? Damn it all!"

I waved him to sit back down on the sofa. "I was… unsettled… after…"

"What happened," he finished my statement. He stared at me for a few seconds, and then slowly sank back to his seat. "After, I…"

"We," I corrected him.

"But Rachel."

"No buts, Ben. It happened, yes? Now I have to deal with the aftermath." I kept my voice neutral and face blank as I said that, but it was a struggle.

Ben cleared his throat. "Rachel, after what happened, how can you sound so bloody clinical?"

Part of my job was to remain calm under stress. It took quite a few seconds before I could answer. "What other choice do I have Ben?"

"Good God, Rachel, we, WE." He shook his head. " _We_ are in this together."

That got my back up a bit. "WE didn't end up in intensive care! Do you have scars from it? Do you?" Tears suddenly ran down my cheeks and I drew a shuddering breath. "I apologize… it wasn't… that is, you, we didn't know. Did we?"

He drank the rest of his drink and the silence began to build. As I watched him it was obvious he was struggling to control himself, but he was that sort of man - cool and calm, at least in most normal types of situations. But this was not your run of the mill thing; not usual at all.

He turned away from me, now gazing at the wall. But as he studied my front room wallpaper, I thought about how we met; how it was all happenstance.

Alan Permenter was an old friend of my parents, and he ran an art gallery in Soho. It was a quirky little hole in the wall sort of place, a half-sophisticated place of gleaming walls covered by beautiful artworks, and the other half filled with experimental art pieces which were either brilliantly conceived and executed, or absolute rubbish.

I was only there that evening because of the ties of family and friendship, and as well having nothing better to do that Saturday than to sit home and darn stockings. Besides, I knew that Alan always laid on great food and drink, and having neither boyfriend or other engagement I treated myself to an evening out. That's one of the problems of single living; it was a bit hard at times to treat ones' self.

So that Saturday I had dressed in a smart and short dress, my nicest shoes, big hoop earrings and a long silver necklace, and went to the event. Alan was very happy to see me, as he pressed a glass of white wine into my hand, bussed my cheek, made perfunctory introductions, and then turned to greet the next guest coming in the street door.

I was peering at something on the wall which was either a fantastic avantgarde creation, or something scraped off the bottom of a dustman's boot.

"Rather horrible, isn't it?" asked a pleasant-sounding man's voice on my left.

I turned my head, and discovered a very handsome man. He was smiling, his clear blue eyes shining. "Not bad, I suppose, if you don't mind..." I waved a hand at what looked to be a rusted and crushed tin integrated in the middle of the piece. "Whatever that is. Tomato or soup?"

"Rubbish art," he chuckled. "And it's a Spam tin. I've eaten plenty of it to know." He pointed to the next art piece. "But that one's not half bad, though. Reminds me of Minoan art. See the bull? Just here. And the woman leaping over its back?" His square fingers waved over the sketchy blue and red lines on the canvas.

What I recalled about ancient Aegean cultures you could put in a thimble. "If you say so."

He coughed. "I don't mean to lecture. Ancient cultures were one of my passions at school."

"And now?" I asked. "What pays the bills?"

"Government service." He held out his hand. "I'm Ben."

I took his hand. "Rachel."

He indicated my wine glass with a tip of his head. "Ready for another?"

"Not yet." I liked his looks and manners so I lead him to the next piece, which was nearly as awful as the first. "Like it?"

He grimaced. "No."

"Me either."

We walked from one artwork to the other, and generally agreed on what was good, what was bad, and what was iffy.

I looked around the crowded gallery. "A lot of people are here now. I don't think Alan will mind if we leave. Do you mind if we go?"

He laughed. "No. Are you hungry?"

"Famished. How does Italian sound?"

"Works for me." He took my glass from my hand and took me outside. "So, what do you do?"

"I'm a psychologist. Moaning housewives and anxious business people." I watched as he nodded thoughtfully. Sometimes my profession scared people away.

"You seem a level-headed sort. I bet you do them a world of good."

"Thank you. Yes, I think I do. It can be difficult at times."

He laughed. "Sounds like my job."

"I mentioned Italian food; that okay?"

"Just fine with me."

"Come on then. There's a nice place around the corner. Family run – grandmother's recipe – that sort of thing."

"Lead on then."

So, over a nice meal of ravioli and red wine, we exchanged stories, and I found Ben Sizemore to be a rather likeable fellow. He must have thought I was pretty decent as well, for three weeks and six dates later, we made love.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10 – Pathways

It was that weekend seeing Ben which made me toss the paper I was in the midst of writing, and had dashed off what I was to present a short ten days later.

I stared at the words on the paper just next to my left hand, while my right clutched the electronic dingus which at the touch of a button would display the next slide. The words on the page melded together into a tangled mass, until I took a refreshing sip of air, and began to speak, as my pulse pounded in my ears. "I am Dr. Rachel Timoney and today I will be presenting 'Pathways Through the Jungle – A Patient's-eye View of Coping with Loss.' "

I could see my audience nodding politely in the darkened room. Mine was the last paper of the afternoon, and they must be restive, if not asleep.

A few of them I knew as classmates and fellow practitioners, with a sprinkling of well-known names thrown in. I'd gotten a sneak peek of the attendees of this afternoon's conference, and I was impressed to see some of the better known psychiatric consultants had come. Dr. John Bates from the Crawley Clinic was a giant in dealing with PTSD cases, Dr. Hardcastle of the RAF had done a major paper on military pilots coping with stress, and a host of others, along with Thomas Barnaby, Richard DeVere, and a person I had heard of but had never met – Dr. Ruth Ellingham.

My knees were shaking as I gave my preamble. "We all have patients in need of care; care which if withheld or lacking, may lead to less than successful outcomes, or to outright harm. We review the patient medical and psychiatric history, ask pointed questions, and attempt to define what the person sitting in front of our desk is all about."

I had to lick dry lips. "But, and this is a _rather_ large preposition, adverb, conjunction, or noun, depending on the usage… _but_ , despite medical degrees, years of training, of plenty of experience…"

I watched as the audience developed odd expressions as I got started. Hang on to your hats, people. I took a deep breath, and continued. "Have we ever been there? In that patient's shoes, as it were?" I watched the facial expressions change to internal reflection. Good. Good, Rachel. You've set the hook. Now to bring in the line, slowly.

"Some of you have been – or are – in that place; the bull's-eye in that awful conjunction of fluke, luck, accident, or evil intent; or all four."

An older woman tipped head thoughtfully to one side, closed her eyes for a moment, and then nodded right at me, as if to say 'Go on, my dear. You have my attention.'

I forced a smile and cast it around the room; at the thirty men and women sitting in this stuffy room. "And you know just what I am speaking about." I smiled again. "All too well. And for those of you who _never_ lost their treasured teddy bear on the train…" this brought a moment of laughter from them, "then you have lead a very fortunate and charmed life."

The gray-haired older woman was dressed in a rather old-fashioned blouse, jacket, and plain skirt. She smiled and rolled her eyes in amusement. But as she looked at me I realized who it was. Ellingham – _The_ Ellingham. My God. It _must_ be her. Her papers on the maniac murderers in Broadmoor Prison were nearly legend. She must be nearly eighty, but still practicing, last I heard.

My knees shook all the more. "So imagine, if you need to, that you are that anxious uni student, upset bank manager, or distressed home maker. It's all gone wrong." I pressed the button and my second slide appeared on the screen behind me. It showed six words arranged in a circle around a genderless head and shoulder figure. From the top and clockwise, the words were Grief, Self-pity, Resentment, Doubt, Anxiety, and Distress. I had fashioned lightning bolts from the words toward the center figure, which was labeled 'YOU.'

"I won't try to fashion a snappy-sounding acronym for this. I'll leave that up to Nasa or the Esa." I turned halfway to the screen and, using the laser pointer on the dingus in my hand, projected an arrow pointing at the figure. "That's _you_ , right here in the middle of the mess. It doesn't matter what the individual words are, or for that matter, what caused these feelings to fall on you like a ton of bricks. Your grandfather died? Lost your job? Boyfriend dumped you? A horrible medical diagnosis?" That hurt but it was true.

I saw one or two out there wipe their eyes. Yes, we've all been there.

"Doesn't matter what happened – not at all. And in some cases, the hurt done to you may not even have happened, yet, for you may be imagining possible outcomes…" I shook my head and turned back to my notes.

I went to the next slide and said, "Our job as psychiatric doctors is to help the patient deal not with the feelings – but the facts. Grandfather has died. The job is gone. Boyfriend won't take your call. Or laying in a medical bed and getting grim news." I felt my voice shake, but I continued. "Facts. _Facts_ \- those thorny little devils, like your car failing the MOT test."

I saw Ruth Ellingham lean forward with her hand on her chin. Good. I have your attention.

"Yes, here you are. In the desert, lost in the jungle, adrift at sea." Okay Rachel, no more metaphors. I skipped to the next paragraph.

"I have found that exploring the problem from the patient's perspective is an excellent way to travel that gravel road with the patient. Start by helping you – the patient – understand the process, and the path you will follow with the psychiatrist…" I flipped the switch and the next slide was displayed. "This chart shows my data from a series of patient outcomes with and without a clear understanding of what my patient understood of the counseling and treatment process."

From this point my listeners followed every word, and if I had not imparted any major increase on the state of psychiatry, at least I felt that I had unburdened my soul to them, at least in an oblique way.

When finished I got a nice round of applause, and I was only too glad to answer a few polite questions, and then I left the stage. At the seminar reception, I was drinking an orange squash (still no alcohol), making polite conversation with my fellows. I felt both wrung out, but also lighter somehow.

I heard a gentle cough by my side, so I turned, and the gray-haired woman was standing by me. "Ruth Ellingham," she said. "I don't believe we're met."

I took the offered hand and shook it. "No. Rachel Timoney."

"I remember," she chuckled. "Nice work."

"Thank you. I… _I'm_ quite honored to meet _you_."

"Oh pish, Dr. Timoney."

"No, I mean it. I've read quite a few of your papers."

She sighed. "Dreary reading, I must say. But I quite enjoyed your talk back there."

"Thank you again."

Dr. Ellingham looked closely at me for a moment and her lips twitched. "Walk a mile in their shoes, you said and in so many words."

"Suppose I did."

"Having _been_ in those shoes?" She lifted a glass to her lips and drank. "This is a very fine red wine. And you have given me something to think about."

I tipped my head. "Yes."

"Yes to the shoes, or yes to the wine?" She inspected the glass I was holding where the squash was clearly visible. "Not the wine; the shoes then." She sighed. "Yet you are… shall we say… functional? No more than that, I think." Her thin lips pursed for a moment again. "I wish you well Dr. Timoney."

"Thank you, Dr. Ellingham."

She reached into her handbag and drew out a card which she gave to me. "My contact information. Mobile works best; not so keen on email. Call me and we'll have lunch."

"I… I don't know what to say."

"Say yes. Call me next week. Goodbye." Then she turned and walked away.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11 – Facts

Ben turned from his close inspection of my wallpaper, and looked at me with sad, but also, concerned eyes. "Rachel, I… ought to go."

"Where?"

"The hotel."

"You've come all this way, and now you're going to dash off to a _hotel_? Just now?" I snapped my fingers. "Like that?"

He cocked his head to one side then began to smooth a wrinkle on his trousers. "Might be for the best."

I was angry with him for giving up like this. "Not at all," I told him.

He thumped his empty whiskey glass down on the glass lamp table. " _No_?"

I managed to nod, but then had to swipe at more wetness from my face. Damn it, Rachel! Don't be a _bloody_ fool, I thought to myself. You promised yourself you would be strong. He asked to fly here, and you let him do so, at least… at least you can act like an adult. As I looked across the room I suddenly felt so lost; just so sad and terribly alone.

Fact: We had gotten pregnant, unknowing in our passions what that meant.

Fact: The pregnancy was ectopic, implanting inside my right Fallopian Tube.

Fact: The growing embryo got as far along as eight weeks, but when the growing embryo caused the tube to burst, I went into shock from blood loss and pain.

Fact: Emergency surgery saved my life.

Fact: I had nearly died.

Fact: I had survived, but perhaps only physically.

Fact: In a developing country I might well have died, but I had not. I'd pulled through it, minus a few pieces of flesh and soul.

Fact: I looked at the man who'd made me pregnant, had been the father of our child, the man who I must have thought highly enough of to make love to, and now I was terrified of what might happen next.

Questions: Rachel, why are you afraid? What are you afraid of? What do you want to happen? The standard questions I asked patients.

I'd read the grief counseling papers the hospital gave to mothers who'd suffered miscarriages, and a counselor had discussed with me the physical and psychic effects of losing a pregnancy. My mum had brought in her vicar, an old fuddy-duddy of a fellow, who had not a clue what to say, and his words were empty of any use, both then and now.

Only the hospital chaplain had been of some use, for she cried along with me, the fifth day after my first surgery, two days after Ben had come and gone on a whirlwind visit. I had a momentary memory of Ben holding my hand, and calling my name, and then he was gone, or rather I was – fading into a darkness of great depth.

It was my OB-GYN doctor who prescribed the anti-depressants. Were the tablets helping me?

Fact: I was functional. I ate, drank, worked, slept, and exercised. I read books for enjoyment, I walked along the Thames on the good evenings, and even had gone to the cinema – once.

Fact: Outwardly I seemed to be in control; acting like an adult, a professional, a psychiatrist.

 _Medice, cura te ipsum_ \- Physician heal thyself, goes the Proverb.

Much earlier, Aeschylus, the Greek playwright had written,

 _Like some inferior doctor who's become ill,_

 _You are in despair and are unable to discover,_

 _By what medicine you yourself can be cured._

Fact: I stared at Ben through too-wet eyes, and I had not a clue how to cure myself. How to fill the void that I'd stared into? Or worse had almost been swallowed by?

I ran my hand over the chair cushion, feeling the rough fabric, trying to distract myself from further thought - trying to keep breathing in and out, calmly, smoothly, sedately.

I glanced over at Ben, and the look on his face froze the air in my throat.

His face held an expression I had seen too often on the face of a patient and he looked just as sad and lost as I felt.

"It's okay Ben," I managed to force out. "Don't worry about me." I swiped at tears about to fall.

Ben stood up as if to head to the door to leave, I suppose, but when he saw me wipe my eyes, he stopped and in an instant, knelt down with his chest pressed against my knees. "Oh Rachel…" he whispered sadly, as he wrapped me gently in his strong arms. "It was my child too."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12 – Love

"How am I?" Dr. Montgomery asked as she glared at me. "Isn't it obvious?"

I sighed softly and cleared my throat. Prickly this time. "Rather, how do you think you are?"

She shook her head at me. "Fractious. So damn irritable, and that's probably why I snapped at you."

"I see."

"Do you?" she huffed.

I wanted to tell her to quit being so bloody self-centered, but that would do two things. 1) Destroy my performance of civility and professionalism, and 2) lose me a patient. I watched as she bit her lips, then looked away at the window.

"Seems a lot of traffic today," she said.

I cocked an ear that way, but it seemed the usual. "Always busy in the City."

She shook her head. "When I was down in Cornwall the silence drove my bonkers at first, but I got used to it. Although having gulls defecate on my car all the time was a nuisance. I swear they'd use my car for target practice. _Minging_. But I got a space in the car park, after the first month, so that helped."

Ah, a tidbit. "Cornwall." I jotted it down.

She sighed, and then let the air out slowly. "Truro."

"That's where?"

"A slightly larger than average biscuit tin town in that part of the world." She shuddered and wrinkled her nose. "Funny that."

"What is?"

She waved a well-manicured hand at the window where the traffic noise filtered in through the double panes. "I was just complaining about the noise. I suppose… I suppose I do miss the open stretches between towns. Moorland scattered here and there, and in places, not a tree to be seen. Desolate, yes? But I came to appreciate it – a sense of freedom."

This gave me an opening. "Does the City make you feel hemmed in? Or is it from the noise?"

She studied her fingernails, which, this week, matched her toffee-colored lip gloss. "Not hemmed in, no. Plenty to do here, but at times the bloody taxi horns can be a bother." She leaned forward. "But that's not my real problem."

I had waited for her to bring him up. "So you say."

She shook her head, sat up straighter, and pierced me with a blue-eyed stare. "I sent him a letter. By post." She shook her head. "Not that I expect him to answer it."

"What did you tell him in this letter? Was it long?"

"Short, actually. Two paragraphs. I told him that I missed him, and was disappointed that he'd not come up to London, per plan."

"A minute," I interrupted. " _Your_ plan or _his_?"

"Uhm, good one. _His_ plan, originally, and I sort of got onboard with it."

"In what way?"

"Well, when I found he was looking to move here, I encouraged him; coached him in making the needed changes in his life, so he could go back to surgery – where he belongs."

"How did you do that?"

She looked hard at me for nearly a half-minute. "I gave him… no… sorry… I won't say more. That may compromise his… situation."

 _His_ situation. Interesting. "This is not about the other woman."

"No, his professional situation."

"Dr. Montgomery, anything we say here is kept here. Secret."

She chuckled. "Oh yes, that's what you say, but the details of his situation – surgery – might be far too juicy to not whisper about. This isn't my first rodeo."

I sat there open-mouthed. "I do not gossip!"

She smiled sardonically. "Perhaps not." She glanced at her watch. "Oh, goodness just _look_ at the time. Must dash." In a flurry she stood up, shrugged into her coat, and marched to the door, her shoes clacking on the tile.

"Wait."

She stopped and turned. "Yes?" She asked imperiously.

"What was in the rest of your letter?"

She tightened her lips and stood straighter, as she reached for the doorknob. "I said… that…" she looked away. "That I'd made the horrible mistake of _actually_ falling in _love_ with him," she whimpered. "This time."

I was left to digest her declaration in the vacuum caused by the swish of her trousers and slamming of my door.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13 – Lunch

I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and knocked on the door. The front of the home looked no different from any other on this Kensington street. But given the cost of property, and this was a single home, the value must be enormous. I heard footsteps and then the door opened.

Dr. Ruth Ellingham peered out at me with a big smile. "Hello, Dr. Timoney. Do come in." She stuck her age-spotted hand into the drizzle. "Still raining? Lord."

She wore a long tweed skirt, jumper set, and a string of pearls. I'd dressed in a nice dress, although the cold air had chilled my legs on the walk from Tube. I let her usher me inside. "It _is_ December. Nearly winter."

She coughed. "As if I've _forgotten_."

The way she said it made me feel like I'd given her faint reprimand about memory, or lack of.

"Let me take your things," she said.

I got out of my puffy black coat, and let her take it with my umbrella and gloves.

"I'm glad that you could come for lunch," she said kindly.

"I… I'm glad to be here. Thank you." I really had no inkling of why she asked me to lunch, plus I was fairly shaking in my shoes to be at her home.

She guided me down a long entry hall, past the front room furnished with old-fashioned furniture, then further into the building to a small eating area off a modern kitchen decorated in yellow print wallpaper. She pointed to a small table set for two. "I hope you don't mind," she indicated the table. "Just the two of us and my gigantic dining room is _far_ too pretentious. To be honest I rarely use that room."

The table was set with floral print china, and crystal stemware, but the utensils looked to be stainless. I made an assessment that Dr. Ellingham was practical in her home, as well as in practice. I'd boned up on more of her works, just in case she quizzed me on them.

Ruth stepped to the cooker and opened the oven. "Roasted chicken. My mother's cook's recipe. Nothing fancy."

The smell of the meal set my mouth watering. "Fine." I stood there passing my handbag from one hand to the other, not sure what to do with it.

Ruth poked at the bird, and then set the roasting pan on the counter. "We'll just let this rest for a few minutes. She poked at two covered pots on the range. "Rice and sprouts too."

"It…" my stomach growled loudly.

Ruth laughed, then she examined me critically. "Dr. Timoney, stop standing there like you're on inspection, for Heaven's sake! Put your purse on the counter there." She pointed. "And…" her eyes twinkled. "I don't make it a policy to gobble up young psychiatrists."

"Okay," I said, trying to act naturally.

She took a bottle of wine out of the fridge. "Chardonnay. Care for a glass?"

I shook my head. "Not at the moment." I'd stopped taking the anti-depressants but felt it prudent to let any residue flush from my system before I took alcohol.

"Suit yourself." She got the bottle open while I inspected the rest of the kitchen. Practical furnishings all-in-all; rather like my hostess.

She pointed to a large hamper on the counter. "Fortnum and Mason," she sniffed. "My nephew insists on sending one of those every Christmas. Not that I really need them."

I hadn't noticed any holiday decor in her home, other than a single candle with sprigs of pine in the front room window. "Being nice. He just wants to send you something."

She sighed then coughed. "Right. He's a doctor as well; GP."

"Does he live in the City?"

"Country," was her reply. "Hungry? Good. Me as well. Let's eat."

The chicken was good, and the rice wasn't just rice, but a mixture of white and brown rice, small noodles, and slivered almonds. The sprouts were perfectly cooked. "My compliments to your chef."

She grinned over her wine glass. "Thank you. I do all my own cooking."

"You are an excellent chef."

"Everything I know in the kitchen I learnt from the many cooks my father and mother had. Big house, you know. Money – all that. Oh yes, a butler, two cooks, three housemaids, and a gardener. Daddy did his own driving, and so did mummy. So, no driver for our house." She put her wine glass down. "But enough about me. How are you?"

I'd dreaded this question, but knew it was coming. "A little mystified why you asked me for a meal."

"And why would that puzzle you?'

I shrugged. "Me? Why me? I am a nobody. I work hard and do my job. Try to be conscientious. Managed to write that paper I presented." I bit my lip.

"And that's all? You work and give professional talks."

She was good; insightful.

"Sorry, Dr. Timoney. Here I am prying. Don't mean to."

I took a drink of water. Even the water here was good. "No, that's alright."

"I thought that you needed… oh, someone to talk to."

"Me? Why?"

She smiled. "It's not easy being a single person in this world. I know. Been single my whole life – other than a few scattered relationships – but as I listened to you read you paper, I immediately was struck by the _sincerity_ of your delivery. You weren't just talking about patients, and that's good."

I exploded. "Good? What's it to you?!" I managed to shut up before I said more.

She nodded slightly. "Dr. Timoney. Your paper was engaging because it was _truthful_. Something that in the here and now can be quite elusive."

I stood up. "I'd better go," I managed to whisper, then I snatched at my handbag, and spilled most of the contents onto the floor. "Damn, damn!" I muttered while I scrabbled around scooping up the mess. On my knees, I snapped the bag shut and turned to see Dr. Ellingham looking at me with sorrowful eyes. "Sorry. And why are you looking at me like that?"

"Dr. Timoney," she said softly. "I can tell you have been under stress, still are, matter of fact. So, excuse me for trying to do something nice for someone; someone who has been where most of us will never tread. My dear, I'm not trying to meddle. I hope I'm not. I apologize if it seems so."

Unsteadily I got to my feet. "I… I'm sorry for my outburst." I headed to the door, only wanting to get away – out of this house – away from this meddling old woman. I stopped at the door to the hall, and replayed Edith Montgomery fleeing my exam room. Wasn't I doing just the same?

I half-turned but the room seemed to go out of kilter. I reached out a hand to steady myself, and the floor hit full me in the face.

"Rachel? Rachel?" the voice came from far away.

"Wha?" Something wet was laid over my forehead and cheek, so I brushed it off. I felt a damp towel. Dimly I managed to look around. I was flat on the floor, with Ruth bending over me.

"You fainted, I think" she said.

I tried to sit up but she stopped me.

"No. Stay there." She took my pulse. "I can't take your blood pressure. But from the way you went down like that, I have to wonder about low blood sugar, low blood pressure, or something else. How is your head?"

"Uhm, fuzzy." I rubbed my cheek which hurt. "Damn." I ran my tongue over teeth. Nothing broken there. "I…"

She held up her mobile. "Shall I call 9 9 9?"

"No. I… don't…" I tested my arms and legs, turned my head a little. It all worked. "I'll be fine."

She shook her head. "All you modern women. So tough, so strong. A lorry could knock you down and you'd bounce right up." She laughed a little. "When you're young you think you are indestructible. Wonder Woman - all of you."

She looked at my arm, where the sleeve had drawn up, and the scars of the IV needles were still bright red. "That looks nasty. Recent? Have you had a recent operation which might have caused you to collapse?"

I started to blubber, and then of course I had to tell her the whole bloody thing.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14 – Sheep

Automatically, I rested my head against Ben's head and rubbed his neck. "It's okay." His wet cheek was pressed against mine and while he went on sobbing, fresh tears trickled onto my jumper.

"I didn't… didn't…" he mumbled. "Rachel, I didn't mean to... we…"

"Shush," I murmured to him. "It'll be fine," I told him.

He went silent as he took in deep draughts of air. He continued to sniffle though. Finally he cleared his throat, asking, "What are we going to do?"

"What can we do?"

He dropped his arms and sat back on his heels. "You… and… me."

Just looking at his stricken face released another flood of tears from me. I'd promised I wouldn't do this, but there was nothing for it but to let it go. Let it all out - and I did - tortured by weeping.

Ben half-climbed onto the chair with me, and began to rub my back. "There, there," he whispered softly, over and over.

When I was little and got scared by something, be it a large and barking dog, a thunderstorm, or an unexpected shock, I would cry just like I was doing. So Mum or Dad would pick me up, and comfort me, just like Ben was cuddling me. After some time, I calmed down and could then look him in the eye. "We're a right mess, aren't we?"

He shook his head. "Oh yes." He reached to the side table and grabbing a fistful of tissues, began to wipe my face and nose. The tender way that he cleaned my face told me something which gladdened me, and frightened me as well.

It's over and done, Rachel, I told myself. Isn't it? But as Ben binned the used tissues, and then dried his own tears, I did wonder. Was it over? That was what frightened me, for I had no idea what might come next.

"So," I told Ruth, "that was that." She'd lifted me off the floor, tucked me onto a chair, and wrapped me in a soft and fluffy blanket. Now I had spilled out all of out. Me and Ben, my accidental pregnancy, emergency surgery, the aftermath, and how Ben and I treated each other last weekend.

During my exposition, Ruth Ellingham watched me with a pained expression. "You make it sound so final."

"Isn't it? What's to be done? Ben and me, we… we had a fling. That's all."

Ruth handed me another tissue, which I needed as my nose kept dripping. "Is that all it was? A fling? A one-off?" she prodded.

"Yeah," I mumbled. "Suppose so."

"No matter what you think it was, it's been bloody traumatic. That's too obvious. But you know that." She patted my hand. "Let's get some hot tea into you. My mother was rather useless when it came to dealing with most of life, but a bracing cup of tea with plenty of sugar can work wonders." She stopped herself. "Or would cocoa be better?"

"Cocoa."

She smiled and patted my hand. "Right you are." She stepped to the fridge, got out milk and got it to heating. As she puttered around her kitchen, I wondered if she was now my doctor, or instead, a nascent friend?

In short order I was sipping the hot beverage. "Nice. Thank you."

She smiled. "The best cocoa you can get from Paris. I brought this back from my last trip over there. Does a body wonders. Always perks me up when I drink it."

"Chocolate has…" I started to say.

"Oh yes, all those wonderful endorphins - like tryptophan - which make us feel a marked mental improvement; and not just emotional."

"I've read the same thing."

"It's true," she sniffed. "I recommend chocolate for a number of my Broadmoor lot," she sighed, "not that drinking hot chocolate now will excuse, or cure, what they have done."

I knew she meant the murderous inmates she treated. "What… I mean, how can they come to grips with what they have done?"

She shrugged. "Some accept religion asking for forgiveness from a higher power, others are suicidal with remorse, and some act out in the prison population. I had one man tell me that he kept getting into fights with other prisoners and guards so they would beat him, saying 'I'm a wicked man, Dr. Ruth and I deserve every lump that I get.'" Shaking her head, she added, "And I certainly hope that you do not adhere to that thought."

"Uhm, what exactly?"

"That bad things happen to bad people. That a bad lot deserves bad things. Or self-flagellation. Twisting the knife in your own gut."

I sighed. "No, no. I only… how do I get on? Where will my life lead next? The future?"

She chuckled. "If I could answer that I'd be either the Creator or a sooth-sayer."

I sipped more of the cocoa. "This is good, and I'm so sorry for falling apart."

She held up her hand. "No apology needed or accepted." Ruth pursed her lined lips. "So you feel lost?"

I nodded dumbly.

"Rachel, you must understand that sheep don't get lost on purpose."

"What?"

"Sheep tend to stay together; herd animals. Except for those that stray off, the ones the border dogs miss. They put their heads down, nibbling along and grazing, and when they look up they can't see any other members of their flock. 'Where did _everybody_ go?' they must think."

I shook my head having no idea what she was saying.

"Get it?" she grinned at me. "My dear, sheep do not get lost on purpose," she repeated. "It just happens."

"Oh. So now I am a sheep."

Ruth chuckled. "Metaphor."

"Right." I looked at my watch. "Thank you for… the lunch, but I'd better go."

"Let me call for a taxi."

"Oh no, I'm fine."

She looked skeptically at me. "You collapsed on the floor and you are fine? Oh pish. For Heaven's sake Rachel accept a _little_ help."

I bowed my head, for she was correct. "Right. Okay."

She rose, then looked down at me. "More important than the future, young lady, is what you will do right now. This moment; today. Not tomorrow, or next week, but _today_. After the taxi takes you home, please call me to tell me you got there safely. And I recommend that you contact your GP to have this fainting spell looked into."

Ruth left the room to phone for a taxi while I finished my drink. While she was away, I thought about me and Ben, as well as what I'd not told her – about the next bit.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15 – Footstep

Ben and I had clung together like orphan kittens in a carton the night he visited. Finally, he released me and then headed towards my front door. "I should go."

"Must you?"

As he looked at me, I saw him swallow hard. "Might be best."

"Why?"

He shrugged. "When I was in the Special Forces I never asked why, or what, or when. I just followed orders. But this?" he said, was voice shaking. "Who can say what's to be done? The right thing I mean."

Ben always seemed to be so _strong_ and _sure_ of himself. It was strange to see him look uncertain. "I don't know either. Only... feels like skating on thin ice, doesn't?"

That made him smile. "Oh yes.""

I unfolded my legs, got off the sofa, and crossed the room to him. "You should stay." I took his hand in mine. This was harder than I thought it might be. Touching his hand gave me one answer, if not the answer. I looked up into his face, then pulled him close. "I don't want... look, it's raining, cold, and dark. And..." I sighed. "I've no idea if this is the right thing, but will you?" I squeezed his hand.

He sighed as he looked down at me. "I guess it was fun while it lasted Rachel."

His words chilled my heart. "That it? It's over and done?" I dropped his hand and crossed my arms.

Ben screwed up his face. "Damn it." He turned away but what I heard him say next changed everything. "And here I thought… we might go on. But if you don't care to…"

I grabbed at his elbow and turned him to face me. "What's that?"

"I've mucked this up, haven't I?" he said, shaking his head. "I was..."

"Ben, you haven't done anything wrong."

He looked away from me at the floor. "Oh, yeah sure. I got you preggers, out of the country when it went wonky, came barging into the ICU where you lay there as white as a sheet, and looking like a pincushion with twenty tubes going into you."

"It was only ten tubes," I told him, trying to lighten the moment.

"I didn't exactly count. And then… your mum told me you went into cardiac arrest."

"Not quite. Shock more like. Blood pressure went way down. And Ben, you didn't _get_ me pregnant, we did."

"So, I bolted. Ran like a scared rabbit and never looked back."

"Ah, that explains it. I thought it was a dream. But you did come to see me."

His face had gone white. "Yes, I did. I was there… but I ran. Too bloody frightened to deal with it. Deal with what I'd done… and then I didn't even call you for weeks."

"Yeah, I know. Mum kept asking if you had called."

"About that, _I_ was calling _her_."

"Wha? You called my mother?" Why that old cat.

He nodded slowly. "She'd give me a health update; when you got out of ICU, and then the step-down unit, and discharged, all of it; even when you went back to your job."

Realization dawned. "And I thought…" I had convinced myself that he'd written me off. I chuckled.

"What's funny?"

I grabbed his shirt. "You… me… what a couple of bleeding _idiots_ we've been."

He put his hands over mine. "Yeah." He leaned his forehead against mine. "And maybe still are."

Then I drew his face down and kissed him, slowly and tenderly. Every journey begins with that first footstep.

There are some things that you don't share – _not_ with your mum, your gran, your mates, or your therapist. Ben stayed with me for two nights. And _no_ , I didn't tell Ruth that. She had no need to know.

If you are wondering, we did _sleep_ together - same bed and all - but _just_ sleep. There were cuddles, some kisses, and yes tears as well, for it appeared we were in this together.

Did it make any sense? I still don't know.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16 – Time

Time passed in that Ben went back to his job in Rome, later moving on to Tunisia, and I… well I took a deep breath and got back to the slog.

Part of the slog was facing me, her grey eyes piercing me with that wide-eyed stare of hers. "Have you been listening to me at all?" she asked arrogantly.

I had only looked down at my notebook for just a moment. The woman was nearly insufferable. "Yes."

"Good," she moaned, "and when I knew, just knew he'd _never_ answer my letters, or take any of my calls, I gave myself a good _long_ talking to."

"And what did you say to yourself?"

She rolled her eyes. "A figure of speech."

Unless she had developed multiple personality disorder in the last week, which I doubted. "Right. Of course. Go on."

Her hands clasped one another, and I saw her fingers go white as she squeezed them together. Oh my, I hope this isn't balderdash, I thought. So much of personal analysis can be.

Dr. Montgomery shook her head. "It's like this. You were right, you know."

"Oh? About?"

"In so many words you told me that I was trying to rewrite the past." She shook her head and then gave me a rueful grin. "Trying to pretend that the love he felt for me in medical school, well, that I needed to return now, _years_ later."

"Go on." Maybe it was possible for the haughty Dr. Montgomery to actually take advice from someone?

"God, he was _such_ a boy back then. All mawkish but awkward. You know he was a virgin until I had him. And he was 24!" She nearly laughed. "I practically had to give him printed instructions how to make love to me!"

"And you were not; a virgin."

"Oh Lord no. The boys, and a few of the girls, ahem, have been after me since I was fifteen."

My impression of her was nearly the same. She was not statuesque; but she had a trim and curvy figure, certainly not well-endowed. But the way that she commanded your attention was involuntary. Like a snake staring at a mouse. Poor mouse. I could see that men would pay attention to her, even those who hated her.

I think it was the way she moved and the way she looked at you, and not in any coquetish fashion, for every fiber of her being yelled out 'You! Look at me!' As a woman I felt it maddening, for I wasn't drawn in by her commanding presence. Edith and I could barely be patient and therapist, let alone anything else. But to a man that she had set her sights on? I shuddered to myself. Lord help the poor devil.

Edith was a user and a taker. If she was a cocaine user, she'd desire the entire country's worth all for herself. Greedy was the word. In an earlier age _libertine_ would have been her label.

"And the boy then, became a man now – and a man that you suddenly desired," I said to her. "And had to have."

She grinned. "Oh yes. Doesn't that sound absolutely… what's the word?"

I could think of several.

She licked her lips. "Shameless, I think. God, it burned me up; and to see him with that… other woman… and her belly sticking out to here!" she laughed. "Don't you think that pregnant woman can look so bulgy? Poor dears."

I ignored her last comment. "Is it possible that seeing her – and she was pregnant – made you want him? Because she had him?"

"No, no, you've got it wrong. She'd been away and then she arrived on his doorstep. It was a total shock to him. Gob smacked." Edith shook her head. "I thought he'd faint dead away. Oh no, he was mine, up until that moment. He just didn't know it. But…"

"She was the fly in the ointment."

Her hands flew apart and stuck themselves into her hair. "God yes. I tried to…" she cleared her throat, "Uhm, get him to…" Her eyes roved around the room.

"Follow your lead."

She sighed. "I suppose I ought to have tried harder." Her hands came down to her lap and began to twist. "She's close to having the baby by now. Damn."

"And how do you know that?"

She moaned. "I was her OB briefly, until I came up to London."

"Is that… ethical?"

Edith looked away. "He… he was… oh damn. Look he didn't know _who_ he wanted, now did he? He wasn't with _her_ and he wasn't with _me_. Blast it." Her head came up. "Over and done, I think. Bin all this rubbish and move on, I told myself. Edith, find some other doctor to moon over, hopefully one with money and position. Can't keep looking back into the past. Time runs one way, yes?"

I looked at this unhappy woman, and wondered how many other men she'd mess up along the way. "And does love fit into this?"

She grinned. "Oh, luv, if there's enough money, that will come along in time. If it has to."

Wow she could be cold. "So, now you're done with the doctor – the old flame, that is."

She busied herself with her handbag, taking out her mobile and switching it on, signally to me that she was leaving. I had a rule that mobiles were to be _off_. From now on I'll make then drop their phones in a basket across the room.

Edith Montgomery held out her hand so I took it. She squeezed mine then stood up, looking down at me in the powerful way of hers. "Dr. Timoney there is a time for everything. A time to keep…"

And a time to cast away, the rest of the line in Ecclesiastes* ran through my head.

"Time to move on, I think," she said as she ducked her head. "I shan't be back. Thank you."

"I hope that I have helped you."

She smiled. "Oh, _yes_ , so much better. I can stay on task, and my longing for that long-lost boy of long ago I dragged onto my sheets?" She snapped her fingers. "Gone like that." She licked her lips. "And meanwhile there is this neurosurgeon who's rather ringing my chimes at the moment. So, who knows?" she shrugged, slipped into her coat and was gone.

 **Author's note:**

 *** The Bible, King James Version, Ecclesiastes 3:6 - A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;**


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17 – Diagnosis

My internist, Dr. Strong, stared at the computer screen, where my medical records were displayed. He stared intently at the last section which contained my too recent hospital stay. "But you say you were feeling fine?" he asked. "No other episodes?"

Of course he referred to the fall I took at Dr. Ellingham's, having finally decided to get myself checked out. "Yes, as I said, I was having lunch… with a friend… but when I stood up to leave… well, I crumped."

"How long were you unconscious?"

"No more than a few seconds, I think. My… friend was right there. She said it was short."

He smiled. "That happened to me once. Out like a light, but a night of drinking may have had something to do with it. But you weren't injured?"

"Banged my cheek, is all, and I'd not been drinking or drugging as I already told you." I didn't like repeating myself, and I didn't like the cross examination any more than my patients must.

"Right." He picked up a pen, and began to click the button on the end nervously. "We'll do an electrocardiogram. That alright?"

"Yes." I felt sweat break out on my palms. "Part of the differential diagnosis."

He smiled again. "Not any fun being on that side of the desk, is it?"

Perched on the exam couch, clad only in pants, bra, a paper gown, and my socks, I could only swing my stocking-clad feet. "No."

He shook his head. "Your general exam looks fine. BP and pulse are good. Your surgical incision looks completely healed. So a cardio look-see is warranted. Just be a moment." He left me to muse for a few minutes. In for a penny, in for a pound, as they say.

The door banged pen and a technical nurse wheeled the electrocardiogram machine inside. "Hello," she said brightly. "I'm Amy."

"Hello. My name is Rachel."

She peered at the computer screen. "You are Dr. Rachel Timoney. My."

"Psychiatry," I replied.

"Yes. Now, let's have you take off the gown. You can keep your bra on. Is it very tight?"

"Not really."

"Please lie on your back. So just to be safe, unhook your bra; just so it's loose?"

I did as she said and watched as she busied herself plugging in the four leads, and pasting them to my chest in the proper places. I saw how she used a laminated card to confirm the sensors were in the proper place on me and the proper leads were plugged into the proper ports on the device. There were all sorts of weird diagnoses from misrouted electrical leads.

Amy switched on the machine, made a few adjustments, and then said to me, "Just stay calm and try to think of pleasant, just _not_ overly-exciting thoughts. We'll just be monitoring the electrical signals in your chest coming from your heart."

"I understand how it works," I told her.

She nodded. "Sorry. Some patients can get upset during this test." She watched the small screen on the machine. "Looking good here. Comfy?"

I was nearly naked, I had to have a wee, and the room was cold. Relax. Sure. Easy as pie. You try it. "Fine."

The nurse told me, "Now let's record."

I stared at a cracked acoustical tile on the ceiling hoping that it wouldn't complete its collapse and fall on my head. After a two minutes or so, the test ought to be completed.

The nurse fiddled with the machine. "All done," she said. "I'll just have the doctor come back and review it. Stay as you are."

She left and came back in a minutes with Strong, who looked at my heart tracing results. "Hm, yes, right." He looked at the nurse. "See? Heart looks fine for a fit young woman. Perfectly normal tracing." He turned to me. "Our cardiac Johnny will have a look see, but this looks very good to me." He nodded to the nurse who stripped the sensors away. "I think that unless you have another incident, we might dismiss it."

"Might?" I asked. "Might as in you don't _know_."

He shrugged. "I'm thinking it may have been a vasovagal response. Not uncommon."

I sat up, managed to get my bra sorted without exposing too much to doctor or nurse, and slung the paper gown back on. " _Not_ uncommon? That's not very definitive."

"I'm saying that there could have been a trigger – a memory of an unpleasant event?"

Unpleasant event? Like being reminded of too much just _what_ exactly? "So I had a _fright_ , you're saying."

He nodded. "Possibly. Do you have, shall we say _flashbacks_? That is, unpleasant memories of… along with moments of nausea, headaches, bright lights in you eyes?

I closed my eyes and I was back in the ICU waking up with an airway tube down my throat, trying to speak and gagging on the thing, while my arms and legs were strapped down to the bed. I opened my eyes to see Strong peering at me closely. "Of what happened? How could I not?" I said, my voice shaking. "It wasn't fun, no."

Dr. Strong asked the nurse to leave us. After the door swung shut after her, he spoke to me quietly. "You were having lunch, you said, and something was said or you were reminded of something, so perhaps your heart began beating faster, your blood pressure changes, and then you tried to flee."

"I was standing; yes, heading for the door."

He nodded. "Vasovagal response sounds like. You got that far and then your brain sent panic messages out to your body, your veins opened, you became flushed, and your blood pressure fell, resulting in the blood flow to your brain slowing, followed by brain shutdown - and then you went. Fell, that is."

Fright? Fear? I chewed the inside of my cheek for a few beats. He must be correct. "I studied this in school. Panic response."

He tipped his head. "Perhaps not panic, per se. More like alarm." He leaned back is his chair. "Meditation, exercise, or yoga may help you."

"To cope?" I snapped.

"More than _cope_ , Dr. Timoney. This may sound trite, but I can't guarantee that anything will make it _not_ happen again. Trauma has its own path, right?"

I just looked at him for a few seconds. He was right. It would take time.

"Do you have a support system?" he asked. "Parents, friends, a partner?"

"Some of that," I snapped. I'd been expecting a call from Ben; he'd not had time last weekend. A disappointment. "I took antidepressants during the post-op period, prescribed by my OB. I'm not sure I needed them."

He went back to his pen clicking. "Your medical records, well they only tell part of it."

I levered myself up to a sitting position. I snapped out, "The words will say that a single, thirty-two-year old female, in otherwise good health, became pregnant, and suffered an ectopic pregnancy. Emergency surgery and complications followed."

He stopped the pen thing, and put it in his pocket. "Yes."

"I've gotten back to work, I exercise lightly, I eat healthy or try to, and I even went to one of those 'Pregnancy Loss Sessions.' I'm not sure it helped. I didn't even _know_ I was pregnant." I had to stop. It sounded too clinical even to me. I pressed my hands together. "You can imagine that… it's not been easy."

"But you _are_ trying to muddle through," he said, "and that's good."

I looked at the cracked ceiling tile for a bit. "I'm sure that I'm not good at the muddling part, though."

"Rachel," Strong said, "if you had a broken leg, of course there would be a period of healing while the bone regrew, and then you'd need rehab to rebuild muscles and to stretch tendons, and then it could take months to be totally cured of that broken bone. From your chart… well, I re-read it when I saw you were on the schedule. Dr. Timoney, you're still trying to regrow your _leg bone_ , as it were, or so I think."

That made me look at him, giving up my ceiling view.

He added, "One of your psych colleagues may be better to help you out in the rehabilitation part." He shook his head. "For I don't think there is any physical problem with the fainting. Unless something else surfaces." He looked at me for a long few seconds more. "Traumatic events, and their aftereffects, are not likely to go away overnight."

Edith Montgomery had said it – 'time'. Time to truly heal. I ducked my head and for some reason I had to flex my right lower leg as it hung over the edge of the examination couch. "Yes, I see. Dr. Strong, you may be right."

He smiled grimly. "You can get dressed now. We're done. Just… well, I recommend that you see someone – a professional."


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18 – Difficulty

I stared at the clock. It was 7 AM, and it was an hour later on the continent. I picked up my mobile and dialed his number. The phone rang and rang with no answer, as I pressed my mobile to my ear. "Come on, come on," I muttered. "Answer. Please." Then I heard a click.

I head Ben speaking. "Sorry. Can't take this call at the moment. Busy doing something or other and may be out of touch for a time. But leave your name and a message, plus your number. Will call back when I am able. Cheers."

Sighing, I spoke. "Ben, it's me, Rachel. Sorry we've not been able to…" I had to take a breath. "Chat. Call when you can." I paused. "If you want to… talk."

I switched the phone off and put it down. "Well…" I knew he was in North Africa somewhere, perhaps. He did get sent on a lot of different assignments. So he could be anywhere. I drummed my fingers on the tabletop. It wasn't raining out, so I with a will, I got up, slipped my shoes on, and grabbed my coat.

It was a grey day, but dry. An early spring day in London. It had rained overnight, but a warming breeze had come up, so the pavement was only damp. Taxis and lorries hissed past on the streets, as the city woke up. So I walked, block after block, with no aim in mind, past shops, cafes, the newsstand, the Tube station; but it all was a blur to me.

I stopped when I got to the Thames. As I stared down at the murky water, gulls flew past skimming the small waves on the surface, on their way for breakfast, which was about to be provided by children who were scattering bread crusts on the river walk.

As the birds flapped and squawked after the crumbs and bits, while the kids scampered away giggling, I wondered what had happened to the little girl I once knew. I focused on a girl standing with her mother or nanny. She was slender, I could see that, blonde-haired and blue- eyed. Must be about seven or eight.

When I was that age I wanted to have a horse, learn to fly, to be good at maths, play piano, to have more friends, to see the Great Pyramid, and… all of that. All the childhood fantasies we get at that age. As I leaned against the iron railing at the edge of the river embankment, watching the girl, she turned her head toward me and smiled. That's when I had to shift my face to the water for I began to cry.

"You alright miss?" A man's voice broke into my thoughts. "Are you in a any difficulty?"

Startled, I turned to see a bobby standing by my side. I swiped my wet cheek with my glove. "Sorry, just…"

The policeman smiled. He was a nice, handsome young man. Dark hair, strong jaw; piercing concerned eyes. "Having a bad moment is all?" he said after scanning my clean clothes and fairly new coat.

His partner, a young black woman balanced her hands at her belt as she scanned passing pedestrians. She touched the brim of her cap to me.

I closed my eyes. "Just… oh, you know. _Life_."

"Right. Middle of London. Plenty of life about." He winked at me. "Well then. Have a good day, mum."

But I wasn't a mum, I wanted to tell him. I had been – and then I wasn't anymore. I didn't even know it until it was taken away.

I watched the policemen stride away on their patrol. They knew what they were about – keeping the peace and trying to help sad women. What was I doing? What was I to do next? Ben was out of touch and I was… I was… Just what was I?

I twisted my head to watch the children now running in circles to make the gulls fly away. The little blonde girl stopped running, then turned to stare at me, and, for some reason, gave me a tiny wave.

Suddenly, I felt something twist and break. Swiftly, I turned away, and began to walk, faster than before, then faster, and faster, until I was nearly running. For a hundred yards or more I plunged along the river, until the child had disappeared in the crowds of tourists and the ache of her sweet smile was hidden from sight.

Only then did I stop, fumble around in my handbag, and take out my mobile. Scrolling through the recent calls, I found the one I had to – just _had_ _to_ call. My finger swept over the redial function and in a few seconds I heard the ring at the other end.

After two rings a raspy female voice answered. "Hullo?"

My voice box locked.

"Hullo?" the voice prodded. "I must say it's bloody early to call on a Saturday," she harrumphed. " _Who_ is this?"

"Ru… uhm, Ruth?" I managed to yelp out. "Dr. Ellingham?"

"Ah, Rachel. It _is_ you. Thought it might be."

"Yes, it's me." And then I didn't know what to say.

She must have known what I wanted to say, for she said, "I see. Come over straight away. Quick as you can. You will, won't you?"

"Yes… yes, I will."

"Good, I'll put the kettle on."


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19 – Ruth

Ruth turned from the hob after pouring hot water into the teapot. She put the pot on a tray with the tea things and then she cocked her head at me. "The conservatory I think. Follow me."

I followed her down a hallway to the back of her house to a room that was mostly glass. The garden outside was bleak with the bare sticks of last season's growth poking up from raised garden beds. Inside there were pots with live palms and ferns, plus some exotic flowers I didn't recognize.

She parked the tray on a glass table set with two chairs. "Sit here. Bit dusty. Sorry."

"This is fine." I hugged myself for it was chilly in there.

Ruth nodded. "Right," she said, then reached out a liver-spotted and wrinkled hand to a small control panel on the wall. "I'll reset the heat."

With a pronounced click I could feel heat pouring over my feet from radiant heaters at the base of the glass walls.

Ruth cocked her head once more as I stood frozen in place, other than rubbing my arms. "Rachel, you don't need my permission to sit."

I sank onto a spindly-legged chair. "Sure."

She settled herself across from me and then began the tea ritual. After she'd poured our two cups, gave me one, and then she folded her hands and looked squarely at me with her rheumy old-woman eyes. "Now… tell me all about it."

I wrapped my cold fingers around the cup but didn't pick it up, fearing my shaking hands would betray me. How to begin? Where? Or when?

"Just talk," she said softly (and how many times had I said that to a patient under my care?).

So, I did, holding nothing back from Dr. Ruth Ellingham. Ben's absence the last few weeks; both physical and in communication, the feeling of being adrift, of having to choke back sorrow when I saw pregnant mums, all of it. And of course, the clincher being the little girl I'd seen just before I rang her up. Through my monologue she didn't say a word, just sipping her tea once in a while.

After I reduced myself to tears and incoherent mumbles, Ruth spoke. "This girl - someone you knew? Or had seen before?"

"No. Just… a little girl." I blew my nose.

Ruth nodded. "And you imagined yourself as that child."

"I guess."

Ruth toyed with her spoon. "You said you were thinking about your hopes and dreams as a girl."

Fantasies mostly. "Yeah."

She picked up her napkin and polished the spoon thoughtfully. "Roads not taken. And you never got a horse."

That made me laugh.

"See? You can still laugh."

"Maybe there's hope yet."

"Hope?" She put down her spoon. "You still might get a horse, _if_ you want one. I dare say you won't be able to keep one in your flat."

Her eyes were dancing so I laughed again.

Ruth reached across the table and touched my hand. "Still alive in there. Good." She shook her head. "I'll not plaster you with empty platitudes about how your life has plenty of chances to do… _other_ things. I'll leave that to the talk shows on the telly. But you still feel; emotions, regrets; still reacting to those feelings."

I found myself calmed by her no-nonsense words. "I must sound a fool."

She smiled, first I'd seen from her this morning. "I was young once." She smirked. "And in love. Hard for you to believe, no doubt. An old cat like me."

I shook my head. "I…"

She held up her hand. "I'm well over twice your age, my dear." She sighed. "I had a dear friend, if you know what I mean. Don't look so startled, my dear. I would have married him, but he already had a family."

I said, "Ah," for it sounded messy.

"Yes, _ah_. He wasn't the only one, for I had a few lovers along the way."

"Did you marry? The man, I mean… the _dear_ one."

She tossed her hair. "No." She looked away for a few seconds. "He'd have done it – left wife and son both – but… but I was the one who told him _no_. He'd spoken about his son, and his wife, and despite the negative aspects of his marriage the way he…" she cleared her throat. "Spoke of what had been there…"

That was my time to take her hand and hold onto it. "A hard thing."

"If I'd married Izzy, well…" she shrugged then looked around the conservatory. "I might have grandchildren underfoot now." She sat straighter. "A road not taken."

The poem came to mind - _two paths diverged in a yellow wood._ "I always wonder about that. What if I didn't become a Psychiatrist? Or had taken an early passion for cello onward?"

Ruth sipped at her tea, and held the cup at eye level. "Rachel, we all do it. Me and Izzy? Or if I'd married that callow young fellow I met in my first practice? He was nice but not exactly husband material; not then at any rate. But for that matter, given my background, I wasn't the warmest of people. I'm still not."

I patted her cold fingers, then withdrew my hand. "I think you are very perceptive. Plus, empathic."

"Well, if you say so."

"I mean it. Here I am a virtual stranger taking up your time on a weekend."

She cast her look around the glass conservatory as answered sarcastically. "Oh my yes, bags of appointments on my busy calendar."

She was lonely then, I could tell. "And Izzy?"

"Him? Oh, haven't heard from in years. No, decades actually." She fiddled with her napkin. "No, my life has been – interesting – without a husband to bother me." She stared at me. "But you? I think that you and Ben have unfinished business, and I don't mean a pregnancy that ended abruptly."

I winced at that.

"No, I mean it," she added. "Do you want to be with him? Have a life with him? Carry on? Try to pick up the pieces?"

"I…" All good questions. "Uhm, I don't know."

"And… I think the child you saw today, was _not_ yourself at a young age. I think instead that you imagined that she was your child. The one you either did not have, or the one that you may have in future." She dabbed her lips. "The past? The future? My dear it's always there. Regrets, wishes, hopes, failures, second thoughts. Normal, perfectly. I had a housemate in school who had a dog. I daresay the dog did not think regretful thoughts about the bone she had failed to chew on last month. No, I fear that the animal was living in the present. Day after day. But you and I dear heart, we can express those regrets – plus hopes, and worries, for the future."

I mulled over what she was saying. Did I want Ben? Did he want me? Or would we cock it all up?

Ruth cleared her throat. "Plus, you are grieving. I never had a child – at least not to completion. I fell pregnant once. Total surprise. He was a nice man of course. Nice to me; mostly. But just around the time I realized my absent periods and morning discomfort meant something, I lost it. And then…"

"Then?"

She shrugged. "Oh, he scampered off to York on a work assignment and we lost touch."

"I am sorry."

"Happens. But if I was able to carry that child to term, she'd have been old enough to be your mother. And eventually there might have been a grandchild or two because of her. But, Fates didn't let that happen. Not that I believe in all that Fate mumbo jumbo. No, the ancient Greek idea of the three Moirea** spinning out the skein of our lives never meant much to me. Random _chance_ seems more likely."

I thought of my silent prayers – praying for release from my grief. "Ruth do you pray?"

"Sometimes." She smiled. "It does seem to help some people. Do you? Pray?"

"Yes… I do."

"Ah." Her wrinkled lips twitched. "Perhaps you should keep doing that as well as talk to someone – who can help you talk you through all this stuff. Past, present, and future."

I sighed. "How do you find me?"

She smiled briefly. "Anxious dear girl. Not too far gone. And with good reason. Now… let me think about who to send you to."

 **Author's note:**

 *** "The Road Not Taken" by Robert Frost**

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,  
And sorry I could not travel both  
And be one traveler, long I stood  
And looked down one as far as I could  
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,  
And having perhaps the better claim,  
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;  
Though as for that the passing there  
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay  
In leaves no step had trodden black.  
Oh, I kept the first for another day!  
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,  
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh  
Somewhere ages and ages hence:  
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—  
I took the one less traveled by,  
And that has made all the difference.

 ****** **Moirea**

THE Moirae were the three Greek goddesses of Fate who personified the inescapable destiny of man. They assigned to every person his or her fate or share in the scheme of things. Their name means "Parts." The individuals were Klotho (Clotho) "the Spinner," who spun the thread of life, Lakhesis (Lachesis), "the Apportioner of Lots", who measured it, and Atropos (or Aisa), "She who cannot be turned," who cut it short. Zeus Moiragetes, the god of fate, was their leader.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20 – Chart

Her answer was disappointing. "But I thought, that… perhaps… you would?'

"Oh, no Rachel. I couldn't. Not that I wouldn't be _honored_. And I do mean that. But, no. I'm too much invested."

"Oh."

She picked up her mobile and stared it for a few seconds. "Oh, yes. Someone with real empathy, but also a deep understanding – to help you find a map."

I shook my head. "A what?"

"Rachel, I think you are wondering what to do next, or even what to even attempt. So you need a map – a plan, if you will. You are at sea, right? So will a map help?"

I'd come to get help from Ruth, not some stranger. Now she's talking about maps? "Fine," I snapped. But she was right. I was at sea. Lost and alone.

She looked at me with concern. "I can tell you are not happy with me," she sniffed.

I shrugged, but she was right.

She ducked her head. "I hope we can still be friends, moving forward." She snapped her old-fashioned flip phone open, pushed some buttons and held it up to her ear.

I tried to sit still while Fate, in the shape of an old woman, who was also my friend, made her call. I tried not to listen, but this is what I heard.

As Ruth spoke, she cast quick glances at me. "Hello? Sara? Ruth. Fine. Yes. I hope I'm not disturbing you. Good. I'm here with… well, someone who I _believe_ would benefit from your experience."

She listened intently to the mobile for a few seconds. "No. No. Not _exactly_ an emergency. But… I do believe… anxiety, depression, loss…" Her eyes rolled. "I would appreciate it… you would see her immediately." She looked at me and mouthed the words ' _she's not crazy about the idea_.'

Meanwhile my fingers were trying to strangle each other.

Ruth relaxed. "I'll send her right over. Yes. _Now_. Sara, I didn't call…" She sighed. "No, I am serious. Yes? Good. Right. Thirty minutes? I'll send her right over." Ruth lowered her mobile. "That's settled. Sara Campbell. She has a very nice manner. I think you'll like her."

I sighed. "Oh." Feeling rather cast off I rose to my feet. "Then I'll be going."

Ruth shook her head. "Why don't you go to washroom, and smarten yourself up." Her fingers traced down her cheek. "Tear tracks. And I'll call for a taxi. Dr. Campbell see you this morning – as soon as you can get there"

Feeling rather like I'd been patted on the head, rather like a cute child who'd been dismissed, I stared at my reflection in the loo mirror for a little bit, and then, sighing, began to put myself back together.

When I emerged Ruth was waiting at the front door, holding my coat. "Oh there you are," she said.

"Sorry to be a bother."

She smiled. "Pish. Never a bother to me, Dr. Timoney." Then she held out my coat. "Taxi's waiting. Go on."

I shrugged into my coat feeling more at sea then I had felt when I arrived. "Uhm… just where am I going?"

She held out a scrap of paper with an address and phone number on it. "This is it. Not far. Twenty minutes by car, unless traffic backs up."

I held the piece of paper, the words suddenly looking blurry. I had to shake my head to clear my eyes which had gone very wet. "Ruth… I…"

She hugged me briefly and patted my hand when she let me go. "You'd better be going."

She turned opened the door, and framed in the opening the sky had gone nearly clear with huge patches of brilliant blue above hazy clouds near the ground. "Ah, sunlight. A break in the gloom," I muttered.

Ruth held up her hand and the taxi man got out to hold the rear door of the cab open. "There you go," she said.

I stepped onto the top step, feeling something drawing me back, so I turned and looked at her. "Was it like this? For you, I mean? When… well… when you?"

Ruth looked me straight I the eye and her lips twitched. "Worse for me, you know. We weren't open about such things in those days. Now it must be better."

"Yeah, better."

She held out her hand and I took it. "Fair winds Dr. Timoney."

Holding her hand in mine, I knew I was wrong. I wasn't lost – or alone. "I'll need it."

" _One_ storm doesn't have to define a life, Rachel." She ducked her head. "Look at me. I'm still here. Off you go."

"Yes. Thank you." I dropped her hand and climbed into the cab. As I read the driver the address, he gruffly acknowledged it. I looked back to see Ruth Ellingham standing tall and proud in her doorway, watching as we drove away.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21 – Guide

After paying the driver, I emerged from the taxi and from the pavement stared at the modern looking building. It was mostly brick, with touches of glass and stainless steel, the sort of thing you'd see in an architecture design contest. I entered the lobby and found the directory. There. I found her name. Dr. Sara Campbell – Floor 3, Suite C.

Going up in the lift I found myself biting the inside of my cheek, something I tended to do when I was very nervous; and I was – nervous. At the door to suite C I took a deep breath and tried the handle. It was locked. I knocked on it as well.

I examined the crumpled paper in my first. Yes, this was the address. I checked the time and it had been over a half hour since I'd left Ruth's house. I rattled the handle. Definitely locked, and it appeared that no one was here, so I turned towards the lift. Right then the lift doors snicked open and a dark-skinned, raven-haired woman looked out of it. She was quite pretty – a West Indian.

She smiled at me. "Hello. I assume that you are Ruth's friend?"

Her accent had just a trace of the Caribbean. Jamaican? Dominican? No matter. Her face was filled with openness. She was plump, but about as tall as me. She moved her head and her long hair swayed in beautiful waves, for it nearly reached her waist. I could never be bothered with long hair – it took far too much time to wash and dry. She looked to be in her late thirties, only a few years older than me.

"Yes, I am. Rachel Timoney. And you must be Dr. Campbell."

She opened a large and expensive-looking Prada handbag, took out a ring of keys and jingled them. "I'll just unlock my office, shall I?"

I stepped aside as she worked at the door and it swung open on well-oiled hinges. "Please come in," she said, smiling.

Her reception area was nicely decorated in early Swedish modern, all teak and glass. It put my shabby office to shame.

Dr. Campbell switched on the lights, closed the door behind us, and then shepherded me to her inner office. It too was bright and modern; sparse, clean, and well put together, not unlike it's mistress. I stood in the center of the room, trying to focus on why I was here, and not to feel too inadequate.

She dropped her handbag on her desk, took her coat off (it too looked expensive and the pale orange dress she wore beneath it was very High Street, along with posh boots), and turned to me holding out her hand. "I'm Dr. Campbell. How can I be of aid to you?" Her bright and welcoming face told me she was fully engaged and ready to listen – to be here for me.

So can she settle my damaged heart and mind? I took her hand. Damaged? That's too harsh. Perhaps I was only a little bent; as well as scarred. "I… I'm a psychiatrist as well."

She smiled. "Yes."

"And you don't find that unusual?"

She shook her head and her dark eyes danced. "Not at all." She dropped my hand. "Sorry that I was running late, my kids… you see they're young, and their dad had an early meeting so I had to drop them off on a neighbor until he can get home." She looked at me closely. "So… may we begin?"

I saw the way she glanced at an overstuffed chair, so I unbuttoned my coat, and sat down in it. It was a great chair and despite being nervous I started to relax a teeny bit.

She nodded to me. "Dr. Ellingham indicated that you are having… _difficulty_. With what exactly?"

Oh God yes.

Before I could answer, she pressed her hands together for a moment and then held them out to me palms up. "Ruth would not have sent you to me with no good reason." She smiled reassuringly. "So, let me be your guide. When you are ready."

She sat on a wooden chair, turned it so she faced me, picked up a pad and pen and when she was clearly ready to listen, I started to tell her about it. "I had a romantic relationship, and that resulted in my getting pregnant, and I didn't know it. It was an ectopic pregnancy, and there were complications." I paused for air, but I pressed on. "There was surgery, peritonitis and sepsis. I survived. I lost an ovary."

She winced. "And you lost the baby. Go on," she added softly.

"And now… now I don't know where I stand with Ben – that's the man – and I don't know if he's my boyfriend anymore – hasn't taken my calls for days – and now…"

"Now?" she prodded.

The image of the girl by the river flashed into my mind. "I'm frightened. Of what happened, and… of what might come next. You will diagnose anxiety, depression…" Tears began to slide down my face but I kept talking. "And fear. Stark raving fear that I may not ever be a mother; _again,_ that is. I mean, I was but then… I wasn't. But at the same time… I'm afraid that if I got pregnant again, if I _could_ get pregnant – I have only one ovary now, right? But if I tried to have a baby what would happen? What if?" In my memory the girl by the Thames turned and smiled at me. Yes, that was her, the child I did have, and might have once more. I looked lovingly at her in my head and tried to relax.

Dr. Campbell made a note. "You did not mean to get pregnant."

"No. But now I keep thinking about it. And Ben."

"Is he with you?"

"No. We're not married. Ben's working out of the country. Government employee." I shook my head. "I have no idea where that's going. Him and me, I mean." I shrugged.

She gave me a tissue and I dabbed my face, then she waited until I composed myself. "A bit of a mess," I added.

Dr. Campbell shook her head. "So now you are left to work out your grief alone."

Grief? I took a deep breath. Yes, that was the pain in my chest. "Yes," I hissed, trying to hold the pain back. "Almost like it never happened."

"Oh?"

I shrugged. "Oh, I have the physical scars – emergency surgery will do that."

She nodded once. "A miscarriage can feel like that. A story that you cannot easily discuss with family or friends. But unlike the death of a child which has been born there is no funeral." She leaned towards me. "A terrible loss all the same. I am sorry you lost the baby."

"Thank you."

"Such grief can become debilitating in some cases. Are you working? Seeing patients?"

My hands had curled into fists and my nails were digging into my palms. Oddly that felt good for it meant I still felt _something_. "Yeah, I am doing so."

"And how is that going?"

I shrugged. "Fine."

"Right." She pursed her lips. "I think I can help guide you through this."

I laughed. "No magic fixes in this business are there?"

She smiled knowingly. "Unfortunately, no." She scribbled for a few seconds on her pad. "Dr. Timoney…"

"Call me Rachel."

"Then you may call me Sara. Now, let's start at the beginning. Tell me about Ben, how you met."

So I did.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22 – If

So, over the next few weeks (two times every week on Thursday afternoons) Sara Campbell explored my feelings. At one point she stopped me cold when she asked, "Did you want to get pregnant?"

"What?" I gasped.

"Did you?"

"I hadn't… uhm, actually…" I stopped.

Sara looked at me calmly. "Had you considered motherhood before? Some women don't, and that's alright."

"I…"

She tapped her yellow pad of paper with the eraser end of her pencil. "In our modern world we get to choose, usually. Don't answer, for the next few minutes. Just breathe. Close your eyes."

I did as she said.

"Now," her rich alto voice said, "breathe deeply. Hold the air for ten seconds, and let it out slowly. Now, let us imagine some possibilities. Firstly, imagine that you were able to carry the baby to term and delivered it successfully. And as you hold your newborn child and you look into it's face, what do you feel?"

With eyes closed I tried to create the scene in my head. "I don't know. What am I supposed to feel?" I heard her pencil dance over notes, no doubt making concise observations. "Love or resentment?" My eyes snapped open and I glared at her. "No, I _didn't_ plan to be pregnant. Nor did I plan to lose it."

She pursed her lips. "How do you feel about that?"

"God. Awful, relieved, damn it, I DON'T know!" I actually yelled. "Sorry," I said. "About… the outburst."

She nodded. "Yell, scream, whatever. Just don't trash the furniture or strike me." Sara leaned forward. "But you must wonder."

"About?"

She smiled. "What if? My great-grand in Jamaica used to say, 'If is a cruel boss. He takes and he takes, and he eats at you, every day. And if you're not careful you gonna carry him on your back rest of your days.'"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Chance throws things at us. All of us. And then we wonder. What IF this, or that. What if you met Ben Sizemore _next_ year? Or _not_ at all? Or you had the baby, or didn't have it." She ducked her head. "What if you hadn't met Dr. Ellingham? Or she sent you to somebody else to sort this?"

In the dark of night these things did eat at me. "I… yes. I see."

Sara tipped her head to the side. "He was an old, old man when I met him. He was crippled from fieldwork, arthritis, and heart disease, and was almost blind when I met him at age eight. We'd gone back to visit that summer." She smiled. "Oh, he knew that cruel boss, right well. He'd married my great-grannie, but he always loved somebody else. You see his first love married someone else. But he stuck with his wife for 64 years, and they raised six children, four to adulthood." Her mouth was set. "And when he died at age 82 he went out smiling."

I shook my head side to side. What was she telling me?

Sara laid her notes aside and leaned back in her hard chair. "He didn't let that the cruel boss of _if_ hold him back. I believe my great-grandfather lived with as few regrets as could he manage." Now her face was set. "But he still had them – regrets. We all do, Rachel. All the time. If you dwell on _if_ , the boss'll get bigger and bigger. So _don't_ you feed the cruel boss. And who knows? Perhaps then he won't come around quite so often."

I had been holding the arms of the chair tightly, but now I felt I could relax my grip, if only a little.

She smiled at me.

"Right," I answered. "What was his name? Your great-grand?"

"Dominic Jimarcus Higgins. He was my father's mother's father."

"Thank you… for sharing that."

"You want to hear something amazing?"

"Yes?"

"The woman Dominic loved first?"

"Yes?"

"That woman went on to marry his best friend and they built a house right next door to Dominic and my great-grandmother. Raised a fine family right next door to them."

Ouch. "Oh my. But?"

"No buts. They were good friends – that is all." She looked at me powerfully. "Possibilities, Rachel. Many paths."

I glanced at my watch. "My time's about up for today."

"One more thing. Have you been in touch with Ben?"

I picked up my handbag, slipped into my heavy cardigan (it was sunny today but a bit cool) and stood. "I've stopped calling him." I got as far as the door, when she called to me.

"Rachel?"

"See you next Tuesday," I responded.

"Rachel?"

I turned to look at her. "And… Ben hasn't called me either."

"I see."


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23 – Shock

Mum had an answer, or she always thought she did, an answer to _everything_. I rolled my eyes as she droned into my ear. "So the Pastor suggested that… ahem… you move on," she was saying.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just remove him from your life."

"Such as deleting his contact information from my mobile?" As my right hand held my mobile to my ear, my left hand automatically moved down and rubbed my largest scar hidden behind pants and trousers. As if it was only _that_ easy. "Right." Though we were miles apart I could not help but feel just as irritated as if she sat right next to me.

"No I mean it Rachel. Get out – and see other people – uhm, a man, of course. Get back out there. Your father agrees with me."

"If dad agrees then it must be true?"

She sighed. "Don't take it like that luv. I… well how long will you go on like this? Moping about does _no one_ any good, least of all my daughter."

"I'm not moping!" I protested.

"What would you call what you've been doing?" She paused for a few seconds. "Rachel, I'm sorry, but you see…"

Oh but I could see; perfectly well. I looked at the calendar on my kitchen wall. It had been nearly seven months since - since it all _went_. I looked down at my lap. I'd have been a couple of weeks away from having the baby. Mum was nattering on but her words had fuzzed out into an ignorable background buzz.

I closed my eyes, feeling the tears I'd been training myself to hold back start to leak. "Mum!" I shouted. "STOP! STOP IT!"

"Rachel, sorry, but I was only saying…"

I pulled the mobile from my face, pushed the off-hook button and threw it against across the room.

I did get out; out of my flat – so I did take piece of advice from my parents. I went for a walk, a very long one, and in a little while I found myself near where it all had started. Across the park stands the art gallery where I'd met Ben.

Drawn to it, I saw it was all dark inside with a note taped inside the door.

"Away on an art buying trip," it read. "For information, contact" – and there was a phone number. The gallery was empty I could see, and that was fitting for a number of reasons. I felt as empty as the unlit rooms before me. Oh therapy under Dr. Sara Campbell was helping; that much was true. No more nightmares or weird daydreams. I had stopped staring at little blond children thinking what if.

I slept, ate, worked, and did it all over again. Day after bloody day, and I knew what was missing. Not just Ben, but a sense of purpose, beyond watching the days and nights pass by.

I shoved my hands into my pockets as I walked across a park. It was late, but the May evening warm and enjoyable – even for London. Couples strolled by, some dragging little kids. I recognized that a part of my life had ended, had to end. A line in the sand, all that; along with all the other euphemisms for the fact that things finish. Me, the world, the universe; all of it.

"A time to live; a time to die," I muttered. "Damn Rachel now that's a cheery thought." But it was true for everything stops, someday, and we never know when it will.

I forced my feet to move and after three more blocks, I was turning a corner and I ran full into Ben who had a drop-dead gorgeous raven-haired beauty clinging to his arm.

Have you ever gotten an electric shock when plugging the toaster into the mains when the juice is on? We've all done it, getting our fingers across the contacts. Hard to do but it is possible. The shock travels right up your arm to your shoulder like lightning, and it _hurts_. Bloody hell it _**hurts**_. But seeing Ben like this was worse – so very much worse – for this shock shot straight from head to heart.

He froze after nearly knocking me over. "Ra – Rachel?"

The woman looked from me to him and back. "Hi," she said past her pearly and perfect teeth.

Ben shook his head in astonishment. "Hello, Rachel. My God."

I squared my shoulders. He looked good, and happy. "Hello, Ben." I could see he tried to take my hand, but it was held firmly by the girl on his arm. She was shorter than me, and well built, and almost every bit of her dripped seductive splendor and the promise of glamorous sex.

Ben's mouth felled open but he slowly closed it. "Uhm, Rachel, how are you?" he asked after a few silent seconds which seemed to stretch to infinity.

I shoved my hands deep into my coat pockets to resist touching him. "I'm well," I lied. "And… how are you doing? In Town I see."

"I… yes, I'm now back working in London… as you can probably see."

"Sooo much better than all those other places Ben's been in," the woman purred with liquid tones. "Some of that quite horrible. I'm Gloria," she added, as she held his arm tightly in what seemed to be clear ownership.

"Hello," I answered her.

"Oh, uhm, right," Ben caught himself. "Rachel, uhm, this is Gloria. Gloria, Rachel is… is a friend."

Friend. Right. Sure. As good a word as any. How about girlfriend? Or former girlfriend? Or the mother-that-was to the baby-we-made-by-mistake? Or how about the girl I'd haven't phoned back for months? I pressed my lips together so as to not scream.

Gloria smiled at me with her mouth but not with her eyes. She knew – _knew_ that Ben had been a friend; a _very_ close friend. "Hello," she said to me coldly, pressing herself closer to him.

That's the way of it. Clear as glass. Right. I looked down to the pavement but then straight into his eyes. "Have a nice evening," I said coolly and then detoured around them, and quick as I could (and without a backward glance) I marched away.

After the shock of seeing Ben, I knew it was really over.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24 – Change

Mum was right; it definitely was time to move on. Time for a change, in more ways than one. Seeing Ben had cemented an idea pretty firmly in my head, so I called Ruth to let her know what I was going to do.

"You mean this? To move away?" my friend reacted on the phone.

"Yes. I've contacted an estate agent and she sent me any number of links to Cornish holiday homes to rent - long-term." I sighed.

"You do know that my late sister owned property near Portwenn? That's a lovely area; fantastic views but it will be quite a shock from London. Rustic is the polite word." Ruth chuckled. "I hope you like the sound of a rooster crowing at sunup. Despite that I'm getting ready to go down there for an extended time."

Small world. "Portwenn is on the list, but I'm looking at several homes near Delabole. As for chickens I'd not thought of that."

"Yes, oh and the gulls. Noisy and smelly. Ah, the Delabole quarry. You may want to make sure you're well upwind because of dust and noise. Rachel, just what will you do down there?"

I bit the inside of my cheek. "I plan on getting serious about a book." That was mostly true, but I needed a change, both physical and mental.

"Good for you, girl," she said. "Your cash will go a lot further out in the country. But you'll need a car as well; not many bus routes out that way, or they are very infrequent."

 _Car_ , I jotted down on my pad of paper. "Good advice. Thanks."

"And the roads and lanes are narrow. Get yourself a small car."

 _Small_ I wrote behind the word car on my list.

"But, oh my some of the holiday homes are quite nice. Converted farmer's and fisherman's cottages I'd expect, with the odd barn or two thrown in. Make sure you see the property in person," she laughed. "It's time honoured to overcharge the grockles."

"I'm sorry. _Grockles_?"

She laughed. " _You_ , my dear. Tourist or outsider. But the Cornish are friendly, mostly. There are a few… odd ones… but you're well equipped to handle them."

"I see."

"And, Rachel, you will remain a grockle if you stay for two weeks or five years. My nephew lives in the village of Portwenn with his wife and child now. She's a local."

"Your nephew the doctor?"

"Martin Ellingham," she told me. "He's the GP in the area and…"

"And?" I heard only silence. "Ruth? Still there?"

"Yes, dear. I heard you. I was gathering my thoughts. You may… run across him. Note that Cornish people are quite proud of their heritage. We English, despite years of association, are not them and they are not us - exactly. The first time you see the Saint Piran's flag you may understand. That's another thing. Get a good guidebook, small-scale road maps, and one or two history books of the area. And for goodness sake's make sure any car you have has decent tyres, as well as a full-size spare, first-aid kit, and so forth. Some of the roads can be rough as a cob and do not count on universal mobile coverage. Plenty of black spots there, even in some of the villages."

It sounded like I was heading to Antarctica. "Thank you for the tips."

"And when you meet my nephew, uhm, if, you'll find him a good man, but rather _direct_. His wife is much warmer. She is a local – grew up in Portwenn, and is the Head Teacher in the school in the village."

So, her nephew is rather like Ruth. Direct. Good to know. "Perhaps I will meet them."

Ruth sniffed. "Possibly. Do let me know where and when you'll be down there. We can get together. Oh, and the Coastal Path is very nice, if you like exercise. Not my cup of tea at my age."

"Thank you, Ruth, for all the encouragement – in many things."

She laughed. "If you think I was able to help then good. I hope I have."

"Oh my word yes! I… well…" Suddenly my eyes were pricked by tears. "With the problems I was having."

"I know dear," she said. "Now you'd best get cracking if you are actually going to do this."

"Goodbye, Ruth. I will call you; let you know where I'm staying."

"Yes, right. I'll look forward to it," she said, and then she rang off.

I checked the train schedule, and made plans to make a quick recon out there, before I actually pulled the trigger on my plans. Tomorrow morning I could leave Paddington, so I called the estate agent to get the ball rolling.

0 0 0

Samantha Trappett, the estate agent, smiled hugely. She was a medium-height woman in her thirties with a sunny disposition. "Well?" She'd picked me up at the train station outside Bodmin, and was escorting me on a whirlwind tour of back-lanes and byways of Cornwall. Her little daughter was along for the ride, but other than one quick smile at me, she was content to sit in the rear seat of her mum's car and read a book. "What do you think ofthis home?"

Samantha had brought me to a former chapel. It was nicely finished inside and out. There was even space for to park a car off the road, and the garden was nice. I turned my head and glimpsed the ocean in the distance.

"It is nice, right?" she prodded again. "Two bedrooms, nice kitchen, airy front room? Bath and a half? Fully furnished as well."

I looked around. It was a small hamlet, Treligga, and just what I needed after London. I'd taken Ruth's advice and had only looked for houses on the ocean side of Delabole. "Ocean?"

"Less than a mile away thataway. There is a beach, if you don't mind a climb down a rocky path." I saw her check out my leather flats. "Trainers might be a good idea if you go there."

The sun was shining brightly, with a fair wind, and I could smell the sea. "How much?"

She named a price that took my breath away. "But," she added, if you sign for more than three months – ending past the summer - there is a hefty discount. Twenty percent."

I closed my eyes and saw once more Ben's face that night in London, with Gloria hanging on him possessively. "I'll take it," I said with a will. "Say six months for a start?"

Samantha smiled hugely. "Wonderful. Back to my office now and we can draw up the papers. The owner will be very pleased."

I took another breath of the sweet country air. Me as well.


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25 – West

"But," one of my needier patients asked, "what if I don't get on with the other doc?" She fidgeted as she glared at me.

I gave her an encouraging smile. "You'll do fine. Please don't worry. Dr. Campbell, along with others, are taking on all my patients. They – the other doctors – are all very capable. But you will like Dr. Campbell. She has…" I paused, "Skills which you will find useful. Trust me." I'd been able to 'steer' my patients to doctors whom I knew and trusted, matching patient needs to skills. The NHS had acquiesced, although it had taken some negotiating on my part.

The patient bowed her head at me, not entirely in agreement, shown by her concerned eyes.

Finally it was done; patients shipped off, office space sublet, and I'd packed my flat contents into boxes for storage, disposal, or transport. I looked around the tiny rooms, remembering too well what had happened there. At last the removers came, followed my directions as to what went where, and then I turned the keys over to my landlord.

He gave me a fishy stare. "So you're off to the West Country."

"Yes, I am."

He sniffed. "Dorset?"

"Cornwall."

He laughed. "I was down there in the RAF for a time. Chasing Russki subs we was; sonarman on a patrol plane back in the sixties. Still a bit deaf from the bloody propeller noise." He squinted at me. "Don't you like London?"

London was fine. It was me who needed to get out. "London is good. But… oh don't we all need a change sometimes?"

"Right. The cider is good down there, mark my words," he added as he accepted the flat keys. "Good luck to you Dr. Timoney."

"Thank you."

He watched me from the steps of the building as I put my last case and laptop into my new car (it was three years old but it was new to me. It was a two-door black Volkswagen diesel). I turned and waved to him. "Goodbye."

"Bye, Doc," he called out to me. "Fair winds to you."

0 0 0

I settled in quickly 'down there'. The rental home was on a quiet lane, not far from the local co-op market, a pub, and a flower shop. Delabole, which was much larger, was just a few miles away for my other needs, such as petrol, a bookshop, or new towels. I found a good used bike, and toured around the lanes, and through my new neighbors, was introduced to the delights of good local cider, cheese, and produce. One neighbor even gave me permission to cross his field to the Coastal Path, saving a roundabout drive to get to it. It was only a short walk going that way, and oh my word the sunsets were marvelous. No _marvelous_ was a _very_ poor word to describe seeing the solar orb set into the horizon. Certainly not a view like that up in Town.

So I tried to set a new pattern to my life. Out for a good walk or bike ride after breakfast, and then check emails (there weren't many) then tidy the house. Later, after an early dinner, I'd read or watch the telly until 10 or so and then to bed. I felt a million miles away from my life before, and that was rejuvenating.

Kyle and Andrea Samuels were a retired couple who lived behind my house. He had worked at the quarry, and she had been there in the office. They were both spry and entertaining, despite being seventy plus. Kyle had taken up wood carving as a retirement job, finding interesting bits of wood to turn into birds or fish, and his wife had become a master potter. I marveled at the works Andrea created in her kiln.

"Those are fantastic! You are so talented," I emoted over the shelves of her work. We were in her pottery shed just over the wall from my garden.

Andrea laughed. "Nah, not that good, but I keep at it. This one?" She pointed to a blue-glazed vase, with golden iridescent tones, which would fit very well into any well-furnished home. "Not my best work. But it is one of my better ones." She cocked her head. "You like it?"

"It's wonderful. If I worked at it a million years I'd never be able to do that."

"Then here," she wrapped it in some newsprint and twine. "It's yours."

Once again I was exposed to local friendliness. "No, do let me pay you…"

"No Rachel! If you pay me then it becomes business, and I'd rather be friends, yes? So please take my gift. Brighten up your house."

I looked at the vase and sighed. "Thank you." I resolved to bring her nice flowers, although her garden was filled with a riot of late-spring colours happily waving in the breezy sunshine. Perhaps she would appreciate roses would from the shop. "I'd better be heading back."

Andrea asked me, "Heard tell you are writing a book?"

"Ah that." For two weeks I'd sat and stared at my computer, rather in a daze, and no words made their way into a file. "Poking at it." But it seemed that news traveled fast, for the postman too had asked about 'my book.' Hm. Were there no secrets out here?

"None of my business," she replied. "But you are too young to retire."

Retire? "Far from it."

"That's what I thought." She cocked her head and I sensed she was wondering what I was doing in Cornwall.

I bit my cheek. "Work, well… you could say I am on a bit of a holiday," I shared with her.

Andrea handed me the wrapped vase. "All work and no play makes Jill a dull girl."

"Right you are." I walked back to my house and found my mobile blinking at me for I'd left the thing behind; a good habit I'd been trying to develop – leaving electronic doodads sit for hours – and not check them all the time.

I triggered the thing and heard Ruth Ellingham's voice. "Rachel? Good to get back in contact," her recording said. "Sorry for not calling back right after you left me a message a few days ago. I was busy for bit. My book stuff – publisher bugging me for another one. Nonetheless we should have a dinner. Call when you can."

I called her and she picked up on the first ring. "Ruth, this is Rachel."

"Oh there you are," she said drily. "Can you come down to Portwenn? It's not far from you, and my car is in the shop."

"Of course. Tonight good?"

"That would work. Here's where I am," she gave me an address, "Got a pencil?" She rattled off a number of turns along various roads. "From Treligga it might take you 25 minutes. We can walk down to the Platt from my house. The Crab and Lobster is convenient but it won't be the Ritz. Oh, and there is a teeny spot to park a car nearby the house, if it's small – the car I mean."

Considering that the Ritz in London was a very famous hotel, I had no doubt the place she told me about would be way down the scale. "Not a problem. And my car is small, per your advice." I looked at my watch and it was 4:30. "It'll take me a little while before I can leave here. See you at 5:30?"

"If you don't get lost," she chuckled. "The lanes hereabouts can be twisty and confusing."

"I'll make my way," I told her confidently.

"Fine. See you soon Rachel. Looking forward to seeing you."

"Yes, and me as well. Bye."

"Goodbye."


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26 – Dinner

Ruth had provided good directions, but the satnav in the car was necessary in the spaghetti streets of the village of Portwenn. The place appeared to be a proper village with several shops, and cafes. There was only one pub though, I noticed.

I managed to scrunch my car into a tiny space downhill from her house, then made my way up the steep street. Huffing and puffing I got to her door and pressed the bell.

A smiling Ruth opened the door. "Well hello stranger!" she greeted me with a quick hug. "Let me get my handbag and jacket and we can walk down to the Platt, the harbour." She picked up her things. "Well… how are you?"

"Fine," I told her as we walked from her house. "My goodness is this whole village built on a hill?"

"Uphill both ways it can seem," Ruth chuckled. "Good for the heart and the legs." She looked me up and down. "You seem well."

"I am, I really am. Living out here…"

"Fresh air, sunshine, even the rain can make lift your spirits. As much as I enjoy London," she waved an age-spotted hand at the white house we were walking past and the gray-blue sea beyond, "this place can do a body wonders, as well as the mind."

She pointed out various important places (coffee shop, bakery, pasties, candy, phone store, post office, the bus stop, all the usual) along with a running commentary about historic houses and dates.

"How do you like living in Treligga?" she asked when we reached the Platt at the bottom of the village, just feet from the harbor.

"It's quiet but nice."

"Here we are," she said as the led me into The Crab and Lobster. It was a snug place with typical ceiling-beamed rooms, and rough plastered walls. The place smelled of beer, wine, fried fish, and that old building smell. Ruth led me to the bar. "Hello Jeremy, a red for me, and a?"

"Red wine."

I opened my bag to get out money, but she stopped me. "It's on me."

"Oh, well then dinner is on me."

"Suit yourself." Carrying our wine, I followed Ruth to a table for two. "This will do." She settled herself, then lifted her glass. "Cheers."

"Cheers." I took a sip. It tasted good.

"Hungry?" she asked.

"Not quite."

She turned to look at the menu blackboard. "If you're not crazy about fish then Cornwall isn't for you, but here they do have a nice grilled chicken."

I decided to get to the point. "Ruth, you asked about living here."

"I did, yes." She looked at me expectantly. "But?"

Lord the woman was a mind reader. "I'd hoped to start a good and practical book on psycho-therapeutic procedures…"

"But…" she winked at me, "every time you sit down to do it, you don't - finding it so much easier to walk, or go out for a drive. Or drop down to a beach."

"I haven't done the beach just yet," I told her ruefully.

"And time is starting to weigh heavy."

"Yep." I drank some more wine while Ruth looked away from me.

She leaned closer and lowered her voice. "Have you considered picking up a few patients while you're down here?"

Loud laughter erupted from a few tables over where four men who appeared to be fisherman, based on their ruddy faces and clothing. Three were laughing but one sat there morosely, studying his pint as if looking for the answer to life's great question.

Her head made a tiny nod in their direction. "Not everyone is perfectly happy," she muttered. "Not that is necessary, but I am certain that you could help a number of people, if you wanted to."

"Oh, I suppose I could."

She raised her eyebrows. "There are those nearby who _could_ benefit from a good counseling session or three."

A policeman came inside just then and started talking to the fishermen, who immediately stopped their joshing. The cop put his thumbs over the top of his belt and spoke to them in a self-important manner cautioning them about their MOTs as well as parking a skiff too far up from the water's edge.

Ruth nodded at the cop with a twinkle in her eyes. "There's one."

"The cop?" I whispered. "Who's he?"

A brief nod was returned. "Joe Penhale is the local constable, who has a self-important chip on his shoulder, as well as other body parts, plus a healthy dose of self-worth anxieties. And the sad fisherman over there is Eddie Franklin. Eddie's wife left him and his house is now under foreclosure due to his money troubles; which is why the wife fled."

"And how do _you_ know these things?"

"Years of professional training," Ruth snickered quietly. "Portwenn is a very small village my dear. Not many secrets down here."

"Ah."

Ruth sniffed. "Although there are those deep dark secrets concealed behind closed drapes and bedroom doors." She looked at me warily. "Or in the recesses of our minds."

"There is that," I answered her calmly. "But I can think about it; taking on a few private patients. That would fill _some_ of the hours of my day."

Ruth winked at me. "Good girl. Now dinner?"

I got the hint. "Yes, let's eat."

After our meal and another glass of wine for Ruth, but water for me, I had to drive later, she took me on an impromptu tour of the area round the Platt.

"The local Chemist is just here, and up there," Ruth pointed up the street to the left of the harbour, "is my nephew's surgery; the local GP."

"You had mentioned he worked here."

Ruth crossed her arms and took a few steps away, facing the sea which was coming in slowly between the breakwater walls. "Funny, you know."

"What's that?"

She shook her head. "As I said there are those about who could use you as a counselor."

Just as she said this a silver Lexus came speeding down the street, wound it's way through the odd intersection at the Platt and then roared up the hill and was gone. I got a glimpse of a large man behind the wheel but that was all.

"And there he goes," Ruth sighed.

"Who?"

"My nephew. Off on another mission of mercy no doubt." With her toe she kicked at pebbles on the pavement.

"Is something wrong?" I asked her.

She opened her mouth to speak but stopped. "I ought not to say anything."

Something was going on. "About your nephew?"

She nodded. "Rachel, it's… oh, Martin and his wife, Louisa, are having difficulties."

"Couples go through things like that." Look at me I almost said, but I didn't.

She took my hand so I squeezed it. Her hand felt limp at first but then she returned my grip, and she sighed. "Martin is the only actual family I have. Both my brother and sister are dead, but I have a sister-in-law which I hope to never see again – horrid person. So along with Louisa, Martin's wife, and my great nephew James Henry that is my family" She winced. "Sorry Rachel. Old childless woman syndrome."

It was suddenly very clear that Ruth why had been prodding me to counsel again. "Uhm, Ruth, about seeing private patients…"

She dropped my hand and crossed her arms saying, "Yes?" expectantly.

She was asking for my help. Would I be able to do so? Was I capable of getting back into the grind? I took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, practicing what Sarah Campbell had taught me. "Give me a few days to back into that mindset, please?"

Ruth hugged me. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you so very much."


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27 – Serious

I examined Ruth's nephew, who, from his apparent attitude did not think much of me. After all, how could such a young and female therapist help him? "You are 25 minutes late," I admonished him. His aunt had all but made the original appointment for him, and then his receptionist had changed it to 5:30 today.

"I was unavoidably detained," came his excuse. "But, I'm here now. Would you tell Dr. Timoney that I am here?"

I stuck out my hand. "Dr. Timoney."

He shook my hand stiffly, clearly surprised at my appearance. "Uhm, you're very young."

I noticed an abrasion on his cheek, a healing bump on his forehead, and the knees of his trousers were dusty. "Have you been fighting?" I had to ask.

"Of course I haven't," he bristled.

"Well," I sighed. "You are here; eventually. So, I suppose you might be serious. Come through." Then I led him into the house. Since he had arrived late I said, "I only have time to arrange a schedule with you today. Is that satisfactory?"

"Uhm, yes." He looked around my white-washed front room, seeming to be surprised at the clean surroundings. Had he expected a falling down barn? On the other hand, since he was the area GP lord knew what sorts of humble dwellings he had been inside. I'd seen a few such while looking for this place, so I had some inkling of those kinds of places.

I picked up my schedule book. "I need a proper commitment. Once a week without fail. Can you manage that?"

He said softly, "Yes, I think so."

I gathered that he was not used to accepting orders. Alright my friend, here we go. "Either you _can_ or you _can't_ Dr. Ellingham."

"Uhm, yes, yes I can," he answered as he pulled out his mobile and started to fiddle with it.

"That's another thing," I told him, "my study is a phone free zone. No distractions."

"I'm expecting a very important call."

"And no exceptions." I pulled the mobile from his hand and put it around the corner in a shallow basket on the hall table. "Take a seat," I told him when I was with him again. He sat down on the double settee bench which I'd put in front of my chair. It was a bit uncomfortable for people to use, but I wanted to keep anyone a teeny bit on edge; on alert.

I faced him. "House rules. No missing sessions for whatever reasons. Tardiness is not allowed. Punctuality is crucial. If you are dead or dying, well…" I grinned. "That is an exception I shall accept."

He sighed through his nose. "Yes," he answered sullenly.

Martin Ellingham was the fourth patient I'd picked up in less than two weeks. Ruth had something to do with all of them I was sure, for as soon as I told her I would take on a few people, I had a nearly full schedule. Her nephew sat stiffly on the bench, his dark blue suit he wore was nearly spotless, and with his red tie in full knot, and white shirt, he could be a barrister on the way to court, or a surgeon.

Yes, surgeon. He had been one – I looked him up – not that his aunt had told me anything about him, really. Top of his medical school class, graduated with high honours, general surgery, then vascular. But now? Now he was down here in Cornwall, in a tiny biscuit-tin village working as a GP. And he was married to the Head Teacher of Portwenn school; they had one child, a little boy. There was s story there; one that I ought to let him tell me about. A massive sea-change the man had undergone

I remembered the line from _The Tempest_ , for we'd read it in Year 7.

 _Full fathom five thy father lies,_

 _Of his bones are coral made,_

 _Those are pearls that were his eyes,_

 _Nothing of him that doth fade,_

 _But doth suffer a_ _ **sea-change**_ _,_

 _into something rich and strange,_

 _Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell,_

 _Ding-dong._

 _Hark! now I hear them, ding-dong, bell._

Shakespeare had such a way with words, didn't he?

I flipped though my appointment ledger. "Thursday 11 am? Our original time. Will that work?" Was it a sea nymph had turned a top-flight surgeon into this man? Or was it a tempest of ill fortune? Rich and strange indeed. His manner was just this side of arrogant but I can only imagine how hard it must be for him to live here, amidst all the cows, farmers, artists, and fishermen. He'd be far more at home in cold and urban London than here, I was positive. I scribbled his appointment on a card.

He examined me closely, as he took the card. "Fine."

"Now, I must go," I told him.

He stood up. "Yes."

I walked him to the door.

"And you know my aunt, Ruth Ellingham," he stated.

"I do. We…" there was a lot I could not, or would not tell him, "met once or twice… conferences, and so forth."

He read my card. "Psychotherapy."

"It's what I do."

He nodded. "I see." But he was clearly not convinced.

"One more thing, if you feel up to it, perhaps I could call you by your first name?" A bit stuffy with two doctors in the room.

He nodded. "Fine."

"So, Martin, see you next Thursday, 11 am sharp."

He tipped his head slightly. "Yes, thank you for your time, Dr. Timoney." He reached out for his mobile and frowned when he looked at it.

"Problem?"

"I was expecting a call from my wife, from Spain. And I've missed it." His shoulders drooped.

"Oh."

He shrugged. "She'll call back," he said softly, then I could have sworn that he muttered, "I hope." Then he climbed into his shiny Lexus and drove away.

I shook my head. There, my girl, I told myself, goes a huge problem.

0 0 0

But the next Thursday Martin Ellingham sat primly, before me, with large shoes together, and body rigid, as he began his tale. "I was an unwanted child. I failed to develop a normal attachment to my parents, resulting in an inability to form adult relationships. I exhibit poor communication skills, I have unrealistic expectations of others, and a blood phobia. You will diagnose attachment disorder."

"I see you've done some homework." He'd just shortcut weeks of my probing into those words. A start at least. Ruth said he was direst and I had to agree with her.

"Yes. How long will this take to fix?" he asked.

"This, isn't surgery, Martin. This is a process. We can focus on each of these areas and explore them together, but I would suggest that we follow your lead."

His sat there motionless for a few seconds, appearing to mull this over, but then he began to speak. "Before my wife left, things were difficult."

"And you don't want things to go back to that."

"No." He sat there like he was awaiting a death sentence.

I decided to address things head on. "What are you afraid of Martin?"

"Of losing her."

"How would you like to change your relationship? What would you like to be different?"

"For my wife to be happy."

Hm. Just her? "Not for both of you to be happy."

He took a deep breath. "I think happiness is overrated."

"But not for your wife."

"No," he said firmly.

There was a whole pool of unhappiness and sadness inside him. "Do you think that you are to blame?"

"Yes."

So, from the get-go Martin had decided to accept _all_ of the blame – but for what exactly? Was he a martyr or was he being realistic? "I do think it would be useful me for to meet Louisa at some point."

He looked at me with caution, or perhaps irritation. "Is that really necessary?"

"This is about you and your wife. It follows that I see both."

"Yes," he answered. He rubbed his hands on his trousers.

"Your wife is…"

"Away in Spain with our son, staying with her mother, I suppose."

"You don't know?"

He winced. "Her mother is not the easiest of people to deal with. It wouldn't surprise me if my wife found other accommodations while there."

"But you don't know."

He shrugged in a tiny movement. "We have not spoken in nearly four weeks."

"Uhm, you said that last week you had missed a call from her."

He looked at his watch.

"We're not done just yet Martin. Have _you_ called _her_?"

He took a deep breath. "I tried; left a voice mail. In that part of Spain the infrastructure is less than adequate. Communication systems are…" he waved one of his large hands about.

I felt empathy for him. She'd been gone a month and no call from her? "Not one call?" Sounded like Ben.

"One. She telephoned when she and James Henry, he is our son, arrived there. She called from the airport. She had found decent signal strength."

"I see."

Martin looked straight at me. "So…"

"Right. Tell me about your relationship with Louisa. What is so difficult?"

He took a deep breath and blew it out. "She likes people, and I don't. She enjoys a joke, and I do not. She wants to go out, and I don't. So, there are… we have these differences…"

"That is your personalities. How about your marital relations? Are you compatible there?"

He looked at me like I had two heads. "We have a child."

"He's yours then."

"Definitely."

"Answer my question. Bedroom?"

His head ducked for a second. "Perfectly satisfactory, at least she has never complained."

"Do you love her? And does she love you? Is it both emotional _and_ physical?"

He sighed. "I love her more than my life," he said. "And I hope, that is… I think… that she still loves me."

"You're not sure that she loves you?"

Now he really looked scared. "Uhm, as I said things have been… difficult."


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28 – Space

"So, you are saying that your wife has just returned from Spain, and now you won't be living together," I stated to Martin Ellingham at next week's session. He'd just told me that his wife was back but then he dropped this bombshell.

"Yes," he said with a pained expression. "She, uhm, we agreed that for the time being living separately will give us some… an opportunity to… work things out."

Either he was the most high-minded man alive, or she was driving his boat. "And what was your reaction to her pronouncement? This idea that living apart would help you get better at being together."

His eyes had a guarded look. "I just want my wife to be happy. I don't want to force her into anything."

"When will she move out?"

"I already have; letting her have the house. After all that is nearly the only home our son has known. I thought it best not to upset him unduly. Of course, I will still be seeing patients in surgery."

"You moved out, to a bed and breakfast?"

"Ahm, no. We found a small home…" he stopped. "What _possible_ bearing does where I am living have on any of this?"

I looked at him carefully. He was not angry but seemed frustrated. "Martin, given that your wife was away for four weeks, what expectations did you have upon her return? No, don't answer that. Instead tell me what happened when she came home."

Now his eyes got a bit guarded. "I was seeing patients. We had spoken briefly on the phone two days before, and she gave me her flight numbers, so I had been expecting that she'd arrive later that day." The way he spoke he might have been describing resecting an artery. "But there she was - early. There had been a mix-up with her itinerary; but they moved her to a morning flight, and she caught an early train to Cornwall after getting to Heathrow."

"And you are glad that she is home."

"I am very glad that she came home, yes." He sighed. "So…"

I scribbled a note or two. "And how did this subject of living apart come up?"

He sighed again. "I asked her if we were staying together. And that is when she suggested that she ought to move out – until things get better." He looked at the floor. "It was at dinner, which she had prepared. Pasta and chorizo."

I glanced at my scribbled notes. "Space."

"What's that?"

"You are giving each other space."

He dipped his head. "We will, of course, share child-rearing duties."

"How old is your son?"

"Not quite one year of age."

I put my pencil down. "You told me that you were afraid of losing her. How will you get her back? She is back home, but not back, per se."

He stared at the floor, then up at me. "I don't know. But that is why I am with you; in therapy." He muttered something after which I didn't catch.

"What's that?"

"Nothing."

I decided to take a different tack. "Tell me about your childhood."

He wrinkled his nose. "I think I've already told you; an unwanted child."

"How do you know that?"

"My mother told me such. That being pregnant with me, and then giving birth had ruined her relationship with my dad. My dad, uh, found solace in other's arms." His eyes went cold. "She strayed as well."

I noted that he used the rather formal word _mother_ for his mum, but _dad_ for his father. "Were you close to your father?"

"No," he snapped. "Dad was demanding. Hard to please."

"Were you close to anyone?"

He nearly smiled. "My Aunt Joan and Uncle Phil. They lived here in Portwenn. Both dead."

Ruth had mentioned her late sister. "This was your father's sister, or your mother's?"

"Father. Joan was the younger of the three; my Aunt Ruth is the middle child. My mother had no siblings." He then proceeded to tell me how he came to Cornwall for school holidays and such until he was eleven.

"Did you enjoy living in the country?"

"I enjoyed being with my aunt and uncle."

Our time was nearly up. "Would you say that being with them made you happy?"

He glared at me. "Why do you keep asking about happiness?"

"Your wife, you claim, desires and deserves happiness, and I presume your son. Do you enjoy being with them? Giving them happiness?"

"I love them both. They deserve to be happy. I enjoy caring for them."

"Love as a duty or love as emotional?"

His large hands clamped together. "At times… that is…"

I took a page from Sara Campbell. "Tell me about the first time that you and Louisa were together. Not the details, but what brought you together? There must have been an attraction."

He ducked his head. "I loved her from the first."

"What's that?"

"From the first time I saw her, and I know that makes no sense at all," he said. "It was when I came down to interview about the GP position. She was on the examining board – represented the community. She… she was, is, beautiful, so very beautiful. It took some time for us to 'get together' as you put it. There was always something in our way."

"What were those things?"

He waved a hand dismissively. "Not important. We were on again and off again, but there was always something in the way… but at last I asked her to marry me. She said yes."

I tried to encourage him. "Tell me about that."

He recited a factual tale about a picnic at a music fete where a friend of Louisa, who was a cellist performed. Then the cellist damaged her back in a fall in the village, and while staying with Louisa the woman collapsed with spinal spasms, knocked herself cold and fell on a bottle which shattered. While rendering first aid to the injured woman Martin had injected morphine, which she reacted to adversely. "It was after I managed to restart her heart with a shot of adrenaline that I asked Louisa to marry me."

Quite the romantic moment, I mused. I wondered how much adrenaline was coursing in his veins when he popped the question? What complex man.

"It was after the ambulance had taken the cellist away," he finished the story. "My proposal."

No moonlight dinner then. "Dramatic."

"Yes. I told her I could not live without her."

"And then?"

"Then what?"

"Then?"

He stared at a point somewhere over my right shoulder. "We had a meal and… spent the night together."

Before I could open my mouth, he held up a hand.

"Before you spew out psycho-mumbo-jumbo about how I am a lost little boy seeking a strong female figure to replace the loving mother I never had, you ought to know that Louisa and I have always treated each other as equals or tried to." He sniffed. "It's just that we aren't always on the same wavelength. She too is a product of a broken family."

Now I really wanted to interview her. "Her parents?"

"What bearing does this have?" he asked.

I didn't answer that. "Martin, what do you think you wife sees in you?"

He recoiled slightly. "Such as?"

"Lover, a doctor, a father figure?" I didn't add more hoping he would fill in the blanks. "A good provider?"

He looked away. "I just want to be her husband. And not lose her."

"Martin, last question for this morning."

"Yes?" he asked with irritation.

"When you are wife are together, as you call it, are you happy?"

Ge stood up, towering over me. "Have you ever known the feeling?"

I had to gulp, but I nodded.

"Then it's a stupid question." He walked to the door, but he turned and said, "When I and my wife make love, the rest of the world goes away. Just me and her together." I saw his face go soft, the tenseness gone.

I stood up to face him. "And you are happy at that time?"

He picked up his mobile, looked and it and then tipped his head. "Yes, I suppose I am," he said softly, then he swept out the door.

I watched as he drove away. "There are so many layers to Martin Ellingham," I said aloud. "How am I going to sort him? What is down there, underneath all that armor?"


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 29 – Downtime

Friday was my off day. It was the day I went shopping, ran other errands, and started laundry, and so on. I also tried to work on the book – the writing of which seemed to be getting further and further away with every passing day.

The temperature had gone up by noon to 75 F* with a warm breeze coming in off the sea, so after hanging bed linens out to dry, I slipped into my bathing suit, added shorts and a t-shirt, then packed a small rucksack, with water, sandwich, carrot sticks, an apple, and sun screen. I threw in a book and my flip-flops, draped a towel over my shoulder, put my straw sunhat on my head and sunglasses on my face, and I set off to the beach.****

The pathway through the fields intersected with the SW Coastal Path, which I followed to a rock-strewn path which meandered to the edge of the sea cliff. Hereabouts most of the coastline was a nearly sheer drop-off from land down to the water. Many of the bluffs were very dangerous, but here the path zigged down the slope to a rocky trail which, if one was nimble, you could negotiate to the water. Andrea Saunders had pointed it out to me when she went with me on an evening ramble.

At the foot of the one hundred foot tall cliff was a triangular sandy spit. The beach wasn't very large, about as long as a football pitch, and half as wide, but it was sandy, unlike the rocky shingle most British beaches were made of.

I looked below and saw no one down there, which suited me. I didn't want company, only solitude, sand, sun, and my book. I made my way down the steep path, strolled to the widest part of the beach, to pick a good spot for my towel. I put sunscreen on my fair skin, then kicked off my trainers and waded into the water. There were boulders in the surf so I stayed well away to keep from stumbling over them. The water was cold but bearable. I stared out to sea long enough for my feet to cramp then retreating to the warm sand and fluffy blanket, I got glimpses of local trawlers far out to sea, making their daily catches.

The sun was just past zenith, and except for a narrow strip of shade cast by the cliff, the beach was in full sun. I sprawled on my back, letting the sun bake me for a while. God, it felt good; the sun heating my bones, a breeze from the west, and only the gentle lapping of the waves, and the cries of gulls to disturb me. Not disturb really, only lull me into laziness.

The world went away, mostly, but he was there, Martin Ellingham, in my brain all the same. I doubted he'd ever been to a beach, and if he had gone he'd probably worn a suit. Such a formal, stuck up sort he was. I wondered what his wife was like? She was a Head Teacher so she had to be smart, and able to deal with people. Lord knew that with dealing with picky school parents, and what must be challenges of running a rural school, she ought to have a _few_ things going for her.

Martin had confirmed what Ruth had said about her; that she was both capable and beautiful. Not a bad combination, I thought. And she was a mother as well which added another dimension to her. Motherhood would make her… I stopped that thought. Might make her a better teacher, and a more empathic person.

I sat up, drew the water bottle from my bag, and took a long drink. "Rachel, are you empathic enough?" I said aloud. A gull dropped down, looking for a handout. "Shoo," I told it, and it flew away.

"Empathy with the patient can be both a benefit and a detriment," I repeated the words of a lecturer in psychotherapy. "Identifying too strongly with the patient will put you at a disadvantage. Don't get too close," I repeated what I'd been taught. "Or too cozy."

A vision of Martin and his wife getting cozy and cuddly crept into my head. "The man is so stuffy and wary," I told myself. "And he is so closed in - so scared down deep. Maybe his wife can see through his layers of protection? She must see something there, or why else marry him?" Well as he told me, 'we do have a child,' so he must have let his guard down at least _once_.

I recalled a client, a barrister, who had a number of odd habits, such as pornography and sexual addiction. It was the finding out of those questionable activities which put into him trouble with the authorities, his spouse, and thence into my care. On the outside the man was calm and controlled – a pillar of the community as they say – but he was a piece of work far back in his head. It was only by diagnosing and treating his fears of inadequacy could I shift him into some state of grace and thereby into meaningful treatment. At the core that man was afraid; afraid to fail with his wife, so he sought meaningless solace in other partners.

I unwrapped my sandwich (cheese and tomato)*** and took a bite. Chewing, I mumbled, "You my girl ought to know about layers of fear. Like an onion, you know that." For instance the thought of Martin's wife as a mother had sent a pang of pain through me. An image of a blond girl on the banks of the Thames appeared in my mental vision. "Hello friend," I said to the image. "Come to check on me? I'm still here, love. Still getting along." She faded as I said that.

I finished my lunch, then took out the book. I was about halfway through it and it was essentially a fanfiction** novel of a latter-day Sherlock Holmes. _When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth_ was one of the great fictional detective's well-known sayings as he prowled England to move criminals to justice. Great words to live by, at least for Sherlock.

A mystery; we do love a mystery – a mystery to wrack our brains over in the solving.

"The Ellingham Mystery," I said aloud. "That's it; what I _must_ do! Solve that one! What I have to do is eliminate the impossible. Peel away the layers of the onion to the core. What might lay inside?" I looked at the sea where the fishing boats were distant gray smudges. "Martin says he is afraid of losing her. Hm. So what might Louisa Ellingham fear? Eliminate the impossible Rachel."

There were things to be found, depths to be plumbed, and answers to be dug out. That was my job. Perhaps the _impossible_ is the crack I can force a wedge into to force a door open?

Hm, not _impossible_. I must determine what is _possible_. Sorry Sherlock. What are the things that I can get Martin and Louisa Ellingham to do to change their relationship? What things can I help them to make possible? That might actually work. Having come to this conclusion, I peeled out of shorts and shirt and dashed into the water for a refreshing swim.

 **Author's notes:**

 *** 75 F = 24 C**

 **** Every Sherlock Holmes story, film, or TV production NOT written by Arthur Conan Doyle is fanfiction.**

 ***** I once ate a cheese and tomato sandwich in Birmingham, England. :)**

 ****** This beach is Tregardock Beach. Look it up.**


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter 30 – Louisa

I watched as a taxi stopped outside the house, and a slender dark-haired woman got out. She wore a dark jacket and a red print dress. I went outside to greet her for she was right on time.

"I'm here to see the doctor," the woman said to me when I got outside.

"Mrs. Ellingham," I greeted her.

"Are they here?"

"Yes, she is. I am," I answered.

"Oh," she said, as she twisted her wedding band.

"Come in," I indicated the door and she followed me. "And you are Mrs. Ellingham."

She looked around the room. "Right. So _you_ are Dr. Timoney," she said giving me the once over. We shook hands briefly but from her body language and stiff handshake she did not want to be with me. Too young and female must put her off.

"Yes. Please have a seat," I pointed to the settee, and she arranged herself after taking off her jacket. She sat down and crossed her legs, her left knee pointed away from me, the classic sign of a defensive posture. "Hello."

"Right. Hello."

She was beautiful in a refined, yet understated way. Martin was right about her; a Cornish beauty. I took a deep breath. "So, tell me about yourself and Martin."

"Martin finds it very difficult to express his feelings. I know he loves me; pretty sure he does. Anyway, he's always been a bit emotionally repressed. You should meet his parents. His dad's dead, and his mum… she's very cold, and… _not_ dead."

She clearly did not like her mother-in-law. I interjected, "What about you? About your parents?"

"Mine? Uhm, normal as you like. History; there's always _history_. Ah, mum went away when I was twelve," she said softly, and her body language told me much of her resentment towards her mum. "But that didn't matter for I could take care of myself by that age. Didn't need a mum." It was clear she was covering up; lying to herself. What twelve-year-old could take care of herself? Was her father a useful father, or was this woman raised by a succession of some-time girlfriends or perhaps the neighbors? Martin said she was from Portwenn, so perhaps neighbors helped the young Louisa as she grew?

"And your father?"

"I thought we were here to talk about Martin."

"I need to know about you, Louisa."

"Oh," her eyes fell. "I suppose… right, that Martin probably told you so you know about…"

"Told me what?"

"Uhm, well, my, my dad spent some time in prison when I was a child," she winced. "But I'm really not seeing what _this_ has got to do with Martin's problems."

Father was in prison I wrote down. Why? "We're here to talk about the state of your marriage. That's Martin's problem."

"You can say that."

"So how do you feel about it? Your marriage?"

Her face went sad. "Bit of a mess really." She shook herself. "Sorry, I hate to ask, but how old are you?"

"I'm thirty-two. I think what would work best if you and Martin got together and discuss a suitable time for me to see both of you together."

"What, together?"

I nodded.

"Are you talking about some kind of couple's therapy?"

"Yes."

"I'm really not sure…"

"I understand." This was the hard starting point, bringing them into the same room – same time. "It's helpful to keep an open mind. Both parties should always be open to the idea that they may both be responsible for what happened."

Her head turned away and I saw how she bit her lip as she brushed a slender hand over her cheek. I nudged a box of tissues her way and she took one.

She silently wiped her eyes. "Sorry."

"Louisa, may I call you Louisa?"

"Alright."

"Louisa, Martin says that you are the Head Teacher of Portwenn School."

She brightened, and she told me about her school. "It's small, of course, but the students are fabulous – always, not always, but they _usually_ get good marks." She sighed. "No major problems on that score. The paperwork and reports can be a pile to slog through… but you know how that must be. Parents… well there always are parents. Sometimes they bring their issues into the school. That is never easy to handle."

"Yes."

She brightened. "But I quite like my job."

"That's good. Do you find that you have a good work / life balance?" I saw her eyes grow scared. "Time wise."

"Oh, well, Martin and I keep a pretty busy schedule, what with work and our son."

I looked at my blank pad to gather a few seconds. "Martin told me that you are now living apart."

She stiffened. "He told you?" She nearly fell back in her seat, while she used the wadded up tissue clamped in her fingers to dab at her still teary eyes. She sighed and looked at me sadly. "As I said, bit of mess. I suggested it. The apart thing. He found a small place nearby, but we see him every day. He comes over to the house – it's the village surgery you know? So I see him each morning and then at night he plays with and bathes James."

"I see. He told me that you suggested this arrangement. You and your child are living in your home and Martin has moved out."

Her eyes roved around the room as her head drooped. "Yes, uhm, that's… you see… I thought… we…"

I let her gather her thoughts.

She sighed once more. "Seems that together we just keep grating on each other, you know? Needed some space while we sort things."

"In what way is there friction between you and your husband?"

She grinned. "Martin likes things neat and tidy, and I'm not always the most… well with a small child in the home things get…" her hands waved. "Scattered about. Clean mostly, Martin wouldn't let dirt pile up – doctor, right? And I know it really _bothers_ him when things aren't put in their usual place." Her hands twisted together. "I think he has a touch of OCD."

I dipped my head. "Go on."

"I mean, it's not that I'm a slob, it's just…" she stopped and looked at me in alarm. "I suppose I _ought_ to try harder on that score; to put things away. Neat and tidy, you know."

She'd gone from fear of me to telling me things she had probably thought were not important. He was a neat freak and she was messy. Not a deal breaker by any means but it was the little things which break up marriages; for the little things do not stay little.

Louisa added, "But I always make sure that James, he's my son, _our_ son, is well togged out. It wouldn't do to have him ill-dressed. Tongues would wag."

"I see. Do you have a child-minder or is he in a day-school?"

"Child-minder. Bit of a ditz is that one; blonde and busty." Her eyes fell. "Sorry."

"It's okay." I was blonde and somewhat busty, but not a ditz. The old _blonde_ bugbear. "You were saying?"

"Janice is the girl, she's… well she was available. So far?" she crossed her fingers. "It's working out. But sometimes I do wonder what I might be missing of James' development while I am working." Now she bit her lip again (something I was to see a lot of in future). "You know, words, recognizing letters, stacking blocks."

I scribbled fragmentary notes of what she said. "Louisa, Martin has told me that he wants you to be happy."

Her face got soft and her posture loosened. "Oh. I… well I know that it's not possible to be happy all the time."

"You went down to Spain for a few weeks."

"Four actually."

"And you went to see your mother. How did that work out? Did it make you happy? To be away?"

She crossed her arms. "It wasn't… very…" she sighed, " _relaxing_. Mum… she and Martin didn't get along when she was last up here."

"And you and your mother?"

"What's that?"

"You told me she went away when you were twelve. But you've been able to maintain a relationship."

"I wouldn't call us close, no."

"But you stayed with her and took your son along."

"I did, yes. I needed somewhere to go, you see." She rolled her eyes.

"You couldn't go stay with you father?"

"No, uhm, dad, is… in prison again." She shook her head. "I can't help it but now I feel like you are analyzing me."

"Louisa, please don't feel threatened by me or my questions."

She barked a bitter laugh. "My marriage is a mess, I have a million things to do with the school term starting, and now I'm to be quizzed by you? About my mum? My childhood? And my marriage?" Her whole body radiated hostility and resentment. "If you could walk a mile in my shoes…"

I set my pad and pencil down and rubbed my hands on my trousers. "Louisa I am not asking you questions to sit in judgment of you or your husband. I am here to help you," I told her slowly. "Please remain calm and don't be afraid."

Louisa looked at the floor. "Tissue please?" she asked as I saw tears flow down her cheeks.

I gave her the box and she pulled out a few sheets in a quick jerking motion. She dried her eyes and blew her nose. We'd gone further than I expected today; much further. "Tell you what?" I asked. "Let's stop right here. Now, please, you and Martin discuss if both of you are willing to come see me – together. If both of you agree, then we can get a schedule set up." I stood and offered my hand, which she took and squeezed almost desperately.

Louisa looked up at me. "Martin's afraid? He told you that?"

"He did." She held onto my hand like a drowning woman.

She pulled herself erect then dropped my hand. I watched as she shrugged into her jacket, picked up her handbag, which I had to admire once more, for those were very expensive, then started for the door. She turned to look back at me. "You might say that I feel the same way," she muttered.

"About?"

"That. Afraid," she snapped.

"Of what exactly?"

"That my marriage might be over," she said softly, so quietly I could barely hear it.

I answered, "Don't make assumptions about the future; which has not happened yet."

She sighed. "But I worry about it all the same."

I touched her elbow. "Don't give up Louisa."

She nodded, gave me a fleeting and sad smile, and then left.


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter 31 – Together

"My parents would leave me in Cornwall with my Aunt Joan for the whole summer. So yes, of course, personality development is related to a child's environment, I think." Martin said so matter-of-factly he might have been a narrator of a nature programme telling of the falling of a glacier into the sea.

His wife seemed to sit there in a haze. "Are you feeling comfortable, Louisa?" I asked her, more to get her involved than anything.

That woke her up. "Yeah, why?"

"You don't look especially relaxed."

She wiggled on the setee. "I'm feeling a little squashed." She motioned with her hand to her husband. "Can you move over a bit?"

Martin examined where and how he was sitting, but did not answer, or move, for there was nowhere for him to go.

So, I asked, "Do you feel you keep a distance from each other?"

They eyed each other, and then me cautiously. Martin finally answered. "Uhm, we're currently living apart."

"Yes, and that's not I was referring to. Are you aware that you maintain a _separateness_ , even when you are sitting _next_ to each other?" The pair made small head motions, glancing at each slyly. I'd embarrassed them but it rang true. "Couples will frequently hold hands or make unconscious gesture of affection."

She took the bait. "Are you saying that we don't act like a couple? Have you ever _actually_ been in a relationship?"

"This isn't about me," I answered. Ever been in a relationship? Oh yes, lady I have, and I have the scars to prove it as well. But I won't strip off so you can count them.

"Hmm," Louisa answered but I saw her look down at the narrow gap between their hips.

"Looking at you now, you seem quite self-contained."

I watched as she took a defiant breath then she draped her right hand over his. His large hands were placed oh so precisely on his knees. Her hand patted his hand once, and he reacted by looking down at his lap. She held her head erect on her slender neck in a stiff manner, tipped back slightly, almost with nose in the air, as if to say 'There! Take that!'

At least my words got a reaction from this emotionless couple.

He looked at her more closely, but only with a slight turn of the neck.

"Do you enjoy sharing physical contact?" I asked next.

She said stiffly, "We do have a child, you know."

And I wondered when was the last time they had _shared physical contact?_ Weeks, more likely months. "If there is to be a possibility of having a successful relationship, one must be able to express appreciation of one's partner."

Louisa kept her hand on his, but otherwise they could have been statues. Finally, she took her hand back and locked fingers with her other hand. I saw her bite her lip as well, so my arrow had struck something.

"I appreciate Louisa," he told us firmly.

"Do you find Martin to be appreciative?" I asked her.

She answered, "To me he's usually quite nice, to other people… not so much."

"Are you implying that he's rude?"

"Can be, yeah," she said curtly.

I prodded her for more. "Would you like to say more about that?"

"Uhm," she looked at me, "he has no social skills whatsoever, he doesn't suffer fools gladly, or at all, he makes no attempt to disguise his contempt for anyone he considers less intelligent than himself, and considers everyone to be less intelligent than hims…"

I said, "I understand," to cut her off. Better not let her ramble down the list of ills. She's clearly thought about those. Martin looked out from under his eyebrows in a slightly downcast way. His posture remined me of a child being corrected by his teacher. Hm. Something to think about. "Martin is Louisa being unfair?"

"No, not really," he replied in a matter of fact way.

At least he was aware of being brusque and high-and-mighty. Now Louisa looked scared at what might come next. To shift things in a more positive slant, I asked, "Louisa, three positives about Martin. Quickly."

"Uhm," she closed her eyes, in concentration or irritation. Her green eyes flew open as she turned to examine her spouse. "He's a very good doctor, he always looks very smart (I must say the both of them were very well groomed – no doubt to impress their therapist), and… he keeps the house very tidy." She finished the recitation with a faint grin.

"Great," I responded, smiling myself. "Martin, are you able to think of three positives about Louisa?"

He reacted, "Yes."

"Can you tell me what they are?"

He started to speak, and I watched as Louisa's face was held in awful dread. "She's a good and caring mother. She's physically active and…" he paused, "she's very beautiful," he finished.

Louisa gave him a quick smile, clearly both relived and happy with his comments.

"Each person has to feel that their needs are being met," I told them. Louisa wiped her eyes nervously, but he sat with hands clasped, like he was taking mental notes in a lecture room.

"So, where do we go from here?" she asked.

I smiled. "I'd like to set you some homework."

"Fine," Louisa answered. She now sat like she was before the Headmistress, in the same subservient posture as his.

I gave them the assignment. "I want you to embrace, three times a day, and make a positive statement to each other."

She rolled her eyes and he set his mouth. Neither liked my idea and they thought it rubbish. I wanted to shake them up as they sat there in such passivity to me and each other. 'We do have a child,' Louisa had said. Well the kid must have been an act of God, for how in hell did these two ever climb into the same bed, let alone do the deed without protection? Granted Martin was tall and ruggedly handsome, but for the ears, and Louisa was slender and beautiful, in an Audrey Hepburn way, but together they were so nervous and stiff, at least in counseling.

They were both hurt and disappointed, and the fairy tale marriage was in tatters; the happy-ever-after not quite as they imagined. But there must have been something there… some little thing which lit the fire that had to have been there… once.

I sighed. These two – were lost. Still she had complimented him on his clothing, his profession, and his housekeeping. He in turn appreciated her mothering skills, staying actively fit, and her beauty. I could tell that he liked her saying those things, and she had nearly melted when he gave out those compliments. If only they'd thrown their arms about one another just at that moment it would have saved weeks of sessions. But no, they sat inflexible behind their self-built walls of anger and fear; alone in their mutual self-imposed exile.

I had a helped a similar couple once, just not quite as alone and aloof, as these two. When I'd had them speak appreciative comments, they had melted in one another's embrace, and by the time they left my session, had made huge strides, and had likely started snogging in the lift down to their car. I preferred not to imagine that they shagged in the car park.

"We can do that, can't we Martin?" she asked him.

He responded with a short, "Right."

I smiled encouragingly. "Good. I think you've made progress."

He looked at the floor. "Yes."

She picked up her handbag. "Are we done – for today?"

I stood and they followed my lead. "It must seem small, what you said today, but it may bear fruit."

Martin looked so sour he might be sucking on a lemon. She, on the other hand held her face blankly, but as she walked towards the door, her body moved in a brittle manner.

I followed them to the entry. Martin picked up their mobiles, putting his in his jacket, and holding hers out to her.

She accepted it. "Thank you."

He ducked his head. "Yes."

I watched as they walked single file out to their car. They got in without looking at one another. "Ah, no snogging or shagging for those two… yet," I said to myself.


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter 32 – Relationships

After the Ellingham's had left, I locked up the house (hard to break London habits), and legged it over to the pub. Inside was cramped, quiet, and the furnishings were ancient, but that was fine for me. "Tribute," I asked the young woman behind the bar. I needed something after that tense time with Louisa and Martin. No wonder his aunt roped me into seeing them. I feared I might be dealing with them quite a while. What a mess of an alleged relationship those two hand.

The woman pulled one and slid a full pint over to me. "Cheers. You that sicky… uhm, psyick… oh you know."

"Yes," I grinned at her. "I'm a psychiatrist."

She nodded. "Ah. Heard about you." She wiped her hands and reached across the bar. "Liz is my name." Liz was about twenty-five, with blue eyes that shone brightly below her blonde bangs, cut short on the back and sides. She was in that phase of her life where she was just starting to put on weight. Too many carbs and not enough exercise stuck behind the bar. But she wore a brightly colored blue and yellow dress; fairly new it looked.

I took her hand. No secrets here abouts. "I'm Rachel."

"Down from London?" she asked.

"I am."

She sniffed. "Gosh. I never been. Bristol, and Bath, but not that far east for me. Guess I'm a country girl."

I sipped at the brew. "Good this."

Liz went back to wiping down the bar. There was no one else there but the two of us. "Where is everyone?" A broom and dust pan stood lonely sentry over in the corner and half the chairs were upside down on the tables. The walls were of wavy plaster painted a sickly shade of green that was the favorite of prisons and A&Es.

She shook her head sadly. "Oh, can't get much a draw here. Too small, and all the dart players? They go to Padstow."

My roving eyes found a dartboard. "You got one right there."

"Yeah, but… oh, I don't know. Them Davey brothers and their mates come in sometimes. Usually just me, farmers, and these flies." She waved one or two away from her face. "Not much goin' on in Treligga."

"I see. Why's the owner keep the pub open if it's so empty?"

She sighed. "Used to be run by his brother, hence the name, 'My Brother's Place.' Tim, was the owner; Tim Bridges. But he died, and his brother Colin got it next. Half-brother really. I'm not sure why he kept it… I guess… oh, old times?"

"Or sentimental?"

She giggled, in her high-pitched twenty-something way. "Suppose." She looked me up and down. "A head shrinker, they say about you. Mind reader."

"Not exactly. I help people get better, when they're…"

"Yeah, doolally." Her index finger made circles next to her head.

"Ahem, we prefer to say emotionally or mentally disturbed." I nodded. "Sometimes people just need help in that department."

She sniffed again. "A lot of schoolin' to do that, then."

"Right." To change the subject, I read aloud the menu board. "Fish and chips? Ham and cheese? Shepherd's Pie?"

Liz nodded. "Not too exciting; not like them pubs in Truro. They even have spaghetti."

Yes, I was in a back-water if _spaghetti_ was _exciting_ pub grub. Before I could answer, the door banged open and a man came in carrying bags of groceries. "Liz! Give a hand here."

As Liz ran came out from behind the counter, I saw one of the plastic carrier bags he was holding start to rip before my eyes, so I grabbed it just as an avalanche of brown sauce bottles started to come forth. "Here, let me get that." I cradled the bag quickly stopping the flood.

"Cripes!" the man yelled. "I told that silly cow at the market not to stuff 'em so full! Bollocks."

Liz took some of the bags from him and put them down. "That silly cow is my cousin Colin!" she exclaimed and then punched him in the shoulder.

He winged from the blow. "Sorry Liz. Me and my mouth." He turned and saw me holding the split bag gingerly. "Thanks. You're that head doc. Rachel Timoney," he identified me.

"Yes." I put the torn bag safely onto the bar. "You know about me. And who are you?"

Liz was grinning ear to ear. 'Colin' her mouth moved.

He wiped his hand on his denim jacket. "Sorry. Colin. Colin Helyer. I run this place." He stuck out a square hand to me.

I shook his hand. Good firm grip he hand and he held onto my hand, not letting go.

Liz rolled her eyes.

"Uhm… well," Colin stammered. "Liz Spencer here keeps it running. I just pay the bills."

Liz laughed. "I'll carry all this back to the kitchen for Mike to work on. You two can have a chin-wag." She gathered up the groceries and disappeared to the kitchen.

Colin was on the high side of thirty at a guess. His brown hair was short-cut and he had hazel eyes; clean-shaven as well. Jeans, denim jacket, and a t-shirt which said Plymouth Argyle across the chest covered his lanky body. He was taller than me but not by much. He looked me up and down, twice.

"So…" uncomfortable, I pulled my hand back and crossed my arms.

"Sorry," he said. "You're renting the old chapel back of the Samuels."

"I do. And yes, I am new to the area."

He looked around the room. "Sorry about this. Not what you expect I guess."

I picked up my pint. "Can I buy you one?" Now why did I say that?

He smiled at me with nice straight teeth. A wonder. "Don't mind if I do."


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter 33 – Trust

They sat down and I got right to the heart of it. "How are you? And I am glad that this time, in the morning, will better suit your schedules."

"Yes, what with my patients, and Louisa at the school…" Martin said, "a better fit we thought for both of us. Thank you for allowing the shift."

Better fit. Yes, perhaps for all of us. I thought what the last few days had brought me. Hm… "Right, and how has your week gone?" Things… fitting together.

"We did try the hugging exercises," Louisa said with a teeny twinkle in her eye. "Martin has a _little_ trouble with spontaneity."

"So, do you," he bristled.

"This isn't about me, Martin," she shot back at him. Then she turned her attention to me. "Have you given Martin's blood phobia any more thought?"

I answered, "I have, yes."

"Because we'd love to hear your ideas, wouldn't we Martin?"

From the look on his face he didn't at all agree with her assessment of the subject, reinforced by a testy, "Yes."

Here goes, for I had thought about it. "Very often a fear of blood can stem from control issues. From what I have observed, Martin, you are clearly someone who likes to be in control at all times. I believe the sight of blood brings about a psychological feeling of loss of control, and it's this feeling that manifests itself in your physical reactions of nausea and vomiting."

"I disagree," he answered. "It was when I started to recognize my patients I was operating on as genuine human beings and not just bodies."

Well at least he restated what he'd told me before. "I still think there may be another underlying cause." Genuine human beings... people, Martin… we're called people. Something that Colin said to me.

"Which is?" he asked.

"Your inability to deal with people may display itself as the desire, uh, _need_ to be in control at all times."

Louisa leaned forward with all her focus on me. "So what can Martin do? Practically."

I noticed she had dropped all of the burden onto him. What can _Martin_ do? At least she added the last of it. Practically was almost like possible, wasn't it? "There is no quick fix," I said. "Patterns of behavior take time to break. However, there is one exercise you both can try."

"Both?" she asked.

Oh yes, my perfect little princess, both of you. I faced him. "Martin do you feel safe when you are with Louisa?"

"Yes," he said but almost grimaced. She looked at him and gave him an encouragingly look.

I took a deep breath. "Then I would like you to hand over control to Louisa for an activity of her choosing."

"Hm, what sort of activity?" he sneered as he said it.

"Whatever Louisa decides."

She nearly laughed. "I don't think Martin's going to go for it."

"No, I don't think so," he said in chorus.

I addressed her. "Do you think that sometimes you ask things of him that you know he will struggle to complete?"

Surprise and concern showed on her face. "You… you think I _want_ Martin to let me down?"

It's not want I think, Louisa, it's what you may be doing, consciously or otherwise. "As a defense mechanism, possibly. Your constant disappointment in him may protect you from getting too close." Given her family history, sketchy as it was, she may have been trained to accept disappointment. Prepare for the loss well before it happens. Dad won't do this, or mum's let me down again… that sort of thing. I looked at her calmly while my mind raced. But what it you don't plan for a letdown? What if you let life come at you as it will? Don't prejudge.

She sighed. "So, you think I'm not really _committed_ to this relationship."

"I'm saying that it would be impowering for you to take charge." Images flashed in my head. Taking charge. Just like I'd done when I came to Cornwall – made a change. "Once you've chosen your activity, I want you to make it very clear what you want from him." Oh boy, that could be taken a number of ways. "Stick with it," I added. "Don't feel pressured or dissuaded from doing what you want." Then there was last night…

Martin asked me, "What do I do?" He still sat like a schoolboy before me.

I pulled myself back into the present from the recent past. "Your role is simple, Martin. You need to do exactly as Louisa instructs; without trying to take over."

"Uhm, you really think this will help?" she asked. She shook her head. "It doesn't seem…"

I stopped her. "Seem just what? Smart? Or safe? Martin has told you that he feels safe with you, Louisa. That means trust; trust that you will not do anything to either harm or embarrass him. Am I right, Martin?"

He blew air out his nose. "Yes."

She shook her head.

"What?" I asked her.

She shrugged.

I have given you a key, Louisa, use it. "Louisa, have confidence. Confidence in yourself and with Martin. Can you do that?"

He nodded to her, and she relaxed just a little. "Suppose so." She fiddled with her neckline, then grinned. "Might be fun. What do you think, husband? Follow my lead?"

He recoiled. "God," he moaned.

She patted his knee. "I won't hurt you." Now she was smiling, while Martin sat there fuming. "Joke, Martin, I'm teasing you."

He shot his cuffs and cleared his throat. "Ahem," he looked at his watch. "Will there be anything else?"

000

The pub was empty at nine o'clock when I went in for a pint. When I got there two farmers had just folded up their backgammon board and shuffled out. Colin emerged from the back. "Oh Rachel. Hi!" he said brightly. "Pint?"

"Liz, Colin," I said in return. "Tribute, yes." So I drank a pint and ate some crisps. Colin went back and forth from back to front. "Sorry, Mike the cook called off – a sick aunt he says – and I been trying to sort things back there. Mike's not too... ahem… tidy. Sandwich? I could make one?"

"No, I've eaten." After a while Liz sat down with me and we chatted about things. She asked a lot about London, where I'd lived, what I did for fun there, and so on. The girl was thinking about heading up to Town. "I can give you some ideas about what to do and where to do. Even where to stay. You going up with somebody?" I asked.

She blushed. "My… bestie… friend… Janie."

"Oh, you'll have fun. Does she live nearby?"

"She… ahm… yeah. With me," she said cautiously.

I picked up a clear signal that Janie and Liz were close - as in very, as in couple. Also, that she trusted me. "Oh, that's fine. Have you been a couple very long?"

Her eyes flashed to the side and now she really blushed. "Yeah, we, uhm." She took a deep shuddering breath and looked at the floor. "Since school. Flat mates and… then… uhm…"

I said to her, "Liz, it's fine by me. As long as it's fine with you, then it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks." I smiled at the girl supportively.

She slowly looked up with hope dawning in her eyes. "You mean that?"

"Yes. I do."

I watched as she started to relax, then she exhaled slowly. "I never told anyone before; about us. My dad's on an oil rig and mum's over in Truro. I live here at gran's old house to keep an eye on it." She stared at the kitchen door, where Colin was making a lot of noise, banging something. "Never told it to my parents; not anybody. Just… I didn't know how. And Colin doesn't know," she whispered.

"Why would it matter? None of his business anyway."

"I… I guess you're right," she sighed.

I nodded. "When the time is right, you'll tell him. Now, when the two of you are going up to London - you and Janie - I'll give you all the advice you might need. That good?"

"Yeah, yeah, that'll be great." She got up and headed behind the bar. Then she stopped and looked back at me. "Thanks Rachel." She rushed back to me and gave me a half-hug.

I was patted her shoulder, when Colin came out. "You two ladies done having a chat?"

"Yeah," said Liz grinning at him, ear to ear. "You need a brew?"

Colin smiled. "The usual."

She pulled his pint and another then cleaned down the bar. Yawning, she looked at the old clock on the wall. "Anything else? I'm closing up if it's just the two of you gonna hang about."

Colin chortled. "I think we can take it from here, Liz. You can head on home." He brought me the pint I hadn't asked for.

Liz went out to the kitchen, switched off the lights back there, and came out wearing a cardi, with a battered cloth hobo bag slung on her shoulder. "Shame that Mike called in sick."

"No matter," Colin said to her. He winked at me after beholding the empty room. "Nobody wants any food tonight, anyway."

The girl stopped by the outside door. "Don't you two do anything out of the ordinary."

Colin sat down next to me at my table. "Trust us. Right, Rachel? He casually brushed his hand against mine, which held the full pint, and his touch made me jump.

Beer slopped across the table and I sprang back as I moved away from him. "Sure." I was shaking inside. Hell, girl, get a bloody grip, I thought.

He jumped up and got a towel to dry the table. "Oops. G'night Liz," he said, after clearing his throat.

Liz gazed at us from the doorway. "Like I said," she added, then closed the door behind her.

He shook his head at me. "Rachel, sorry about... the uhm..."

"It's fine."

He sighed. "Not making a move on you. Just friendly, like."

"Sure." I put the glass down and stood. "Goodnight Colin."

He looked hangdog up at me as I started to walk away. "Rachel… I… God."

I turned to face him. "You seem a nice man, Colin. But I don't know you; not that well." Not enough to trust that much. Yet.

He bent his neck, slightly. "Sure. Fair enough Dr. Timoney. Goodnight then."

Trust. Did Louisa trust Martin? That question was intertwined with my own memories of last night. And did I trust myself to be around Colin Helyer?


	34. Chapter 34

Chapter 34 – Dawn

I drove into Portwenn to the co-op market to see if they had a better variety of vegetables since the co-op in Treligga had limited stock.

I enjoyed walking the streets of this village, despite the steepness of many of the streets. I bought my selections and hiked back up to the car park. I'd just got to my car when I heard my name called out. Louisa was standing nearby, holding her handbag and a bag filled with what must be school papers.

"Hello," I answered.

She walked up, glancing furtively from side to side. "Uhm, can we talk for a minute?"

I saw how she was acting nervous, the way she fiddled with her handbag. "Yes. Here?"

"Maybe not."

I raised my eyebrows. "This is about…"

"Yes, what you talked about yesterday… the homework." A boy rode past on his bike, and he greeted her. She smiled briefly. "Standing out here in public… uhm, where everyone can see us? Awkward."

I tipped my head at my car. "Get in."

"Really?" she said. Another villager passed us and called her by name. "Too many people about."

I got in and started the motor. "We can go to car park near the coastal path if you like."

She sighed. "Might be best." Louisa got into my car, and after she belted in, I drove out of the village.

Louisa didn't say anything at all until I parked the car, a few miles out of town. The car park next the path only held ten cars or so. It was just a small gravel pad, for the use of walkers. I stopped the motor and turned to look at her, but she threw the door open and nearly jumped out, so I followed. Louisa sat down on a rickety bench which faced the sea. I gave her a few seconds to settle and then I joined her. "What's this about?"

She bit her lip. "I… I'm not sure that any of this is helping… me and Martin."

"Hm. Any of it?"

She twisted her hands together. "Oh, some of it, the hugging, that's… that did bring us closer. But the next bit, making him do something? All in my control?"

Given the love he professed for her I would hope the hugging helped. "Louisa, none of this process is quick. It's not like brewing up instant coffee."

She watched the ocean swells below. "I just realized that this will change him."

"And you as well."

Another deep sigh came out of her. "Scary, isn't it?"

"It can be."

"It's just… I find… that when we, Martin and me, are talking to you…"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry, this was a bad idea." She started to get up, but I touched her arm.

"Louisa, please sit. Don't run away. Please sit back down."

She grinned. "It would be a bit of a hike back to the village, now wouldn't it?" She sat back down slowly.

It dawned on me that she was ready to do a runner. "You are frightened."

She rubbed her forehead. "Not really."

"Nervous then. Louisa, what do you do when you are nervous?"

Her eyes darted away from me. "Oh, I don't know."

"You told me that your father and mother separated. She went to Spain, but your father stayed behind to raise you."

She bobbed her head. "Yeah," she said resignedly. "Mum got a boyfriend and they went away together. Javier was his name."

"You were young."

"Yeah, I was eleven…" she looked at me sharply. "Or twelve. Uhm, no, eleven, actually."

She had amended her tale. "You were eleven," I repeated. "Go on."

"My parents – well they fought a lot. Over money mostly, and the drink. Never physical, thank the lord. Just words."

"And when they fought, what did you do?"

"Oh, I'd take a book up to bed and hide under the covers or get on my bike and go for a long ride."

Another puzzle piece clicked into place. "Martin told me, and you did too, that the two of you were to be married, but you had called it off."

She sighed. "That was… _difficult_. Day of our wedding, dressed and everything, and I couldn't move my feet to get to church. So I wrote Martin a letter; took it to him. You see he was at his house, also unable to go to the church. So right then we knew, uhm, that we weren't ready."

"You jilted each other."

She laughed. "It sounds so dreadful, doesn't it?"

I shrugged. "It's your life, Louisa. You have to choose how to live it." I paused to let things sink in. "But you and Martin did marry, later on."

She held her left hand out and wiggled her finger where her diamond wedding band twinkled. "Yes, we did; after I had James." She stopped. "You do know… that?"

"Know what?"

She hung her head. "You'd think me, a grown woman, would have known. It went like this, we didn't get married, and I felt the village. Moved up to London; a new job, teaching of course. But the school head was horrid and… and I found I was pregnant. Had no idea."

"And Martin is the father."

She smiled. "Of course, yes he is! There… was no one else." She shook herself and continued with the story. "Then I quit my job in Town and came back to the village."

"To Portwenn."

"Where else? Portwenn is my home. I started again at the school. You see the new Head Teacher was… he had problem. A genetic disorder which made him unbalanced. He was sick, and so I got my old job back."

Something was missing. "Martin was still the GP."

"Oh yes. What with his blood phobia, it's not like he could just up and go back to surgery. You know he had worked as a surgeon? His blood thing got in the way, and he ended up working here."

"I know that, yes."

"So… there I was with a very pregnant belly sticking out to here, plopped back into village life. I wasn't the only single mum-to-be here abouts. But all the teen girls laughed behind my back, and to my face. You can imagine how I felt."

Awkward for her. I was almost a single mum, but anyway I forced myself to ask, "How did Martin take the news? Did you move in together, or, get back together then?" Yes, she was right; a mixed-up muddle they were. So just how long did she know of her pregnancy before she told him? Oh, she hadn't told him, she _showed_ him, and with a big belly. Wow. She must have actually been so very afraid to give him the news of fatherhood. Before I could comment on that she went on.

"No, there was… someone else. Oh, he told me that she had been a colleague from the old days; from med school. Another doctor. Edith Montgomery." She laughed derisively. "Oh, my how she tried to get her hooks back into him. He had wanted to marry her back in school. But she went away then. But here she was."

The light dawned as her words struck me in the face like a cold wet codfish. I had to bite my tongue. Edith Montgomery! Oh my God! Martin Ellingham was Edith's friend! I felt my stomach drop into my shoes. Holy…

Louisa went on, "I think that Edith thought that Martin and she were the perfect match. Me and my pregnant belly didn't make it a bit easier for her and her ginger hair. But Martin chose me, in the end. She left the village and then Martin and I moved in together after James Henry was born." She looked at me with a faint smile. "Bit of a mess, as I have told you. But we got married after that."

"Had… uhm… had Martin been with this other doctor… that is, recently?"

"No. I think she wanted to, but he didn't have eyes for that way. You've seen how he can be."

My head was whirling with her words and my knowledge of Edith. "Ahm, I… so you went off to London… and then recently went to Spain for a few weeks."

"Yeah. Something like that," she said softly. "Wasn't very smart of me."

"And this _other_ doctor?"

"Edith… Montgomery."

"Where, uhm, is she?"

She sighed. "London. Gone. Never coming back."

Right. There could only be _one_ Dr. Edith Montgomery. Now I had a problem. Was I compromised? Did my knowledge of Edith put my counseling of the Ellingham's in jeopardy? What a mess! Bollix.

Louisa sat back. "But you must believe that I _do_ love Martin. Always have, I suppose. Oh, I know he's prickly and a pain in the rear sometimes, but…" she sighed. "I _do_ love him. And he adores James."

I reached out and touched her hand briefly to get her attention. "Louisa, you have emulated your mother's actions. She ran away, so then _you_ ran away."

Her eyes flew open in shock. "Did I? I… I suppose I did. Shame on me."

"You were afraid to marry Martin, the first time, and then afterwards, after you did marry, and afraid to deal with his issues and yours, you ran. Did a runner." I stopped there.

She bit her lip. "That didn't help, did it?"

"No. So, Louisa, you must promise me, that you will stay in place and work on your differences. I'm not advocating knock-down drag out fights or anything. But you _must_ face your fears. And the only way to do that is to stay and work things out. Or…" I shrugged. "There is nothing I can do for you."

Her head slumped.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine," she mumbled. "Fine…" she looked down at her watch. "Gosh, you'd better take me back. I have to be getting home. Martin will be done with surgery and he'll be dealing with James on his own."

We walked back to my car.

She told me, "Thank you. I'll think about what you've said."

And I had things to think about as well. "Right." Many, many things to consider.


	35. Chapter 35

Chapter 35 – Tide

After I got back to the village, I had a light meal (a crab sandwich with plenty of crisps), and as I was eating I thought about the problem I'd fallen into. Did Ruth Ellingham know that Edith had been one of my patients? How could she? Not possible. Edith, vain as she was, would never give a hint to anyone that she was in therapy. And besides, how could Ruth know Edith? Different medical circles, and Ruth did not strike me as the sort of person would have Edith as a friend, or even bear her as an acquaintance. And for that matter she'd not have thrown me at her nephew if she knew of my connection to his former lover.

I rinsed my dishes, stacked them for later, and decided to go on a ride. I was pulling my bike from the garden when Colin drove past and stopped to talk.

"Hello," he said.

"Oh, uhm, hi."

He stared at me for a moment and then looked away. "I want to apologize… the other night… uhm… I was forward."

As he said it I could feel the brush of his hand on mine. "It's fine. Don't worry about it."

He scratched his head. "I don't want you to get the wrong idea… about me."

I beamed at him. "As I said, _no_ problem, with you, uhm, it."

He blew air slowly from his nose. "Sure."

"I mean it."

He nodded. "Going for a ride?"

" _Obviously_. Thought I might head over to the beach. Maybe. Just need some air."

"Hard day, then?"

My turn to sigh. "Sort of."

"Well, you be careful, if you go down to the beach. Them rock steps can be slick when they get wet with spray and keep a weather eye on the wind and the tide."

"Thanks, but I was there before - the beach. It was fine."

Colin looked at me dubiously. "Like I said…" A car pulled up behind his and blew on the hooter. "Bugger," he muttered, so engaged the clutch and drove away.

On my bike it was a little further to the coast, partly because the road took a dogleg, unless I pushed my bike across the field to the footpath. But in less than fifteen minutes I was traipsing down the rough steps from the footpath to the sandy beach below. The surf was up, splashing higher around the fallen rocks which littered the shore. The sea was higher than when I was on the beach before. But it felt good in some way to experience it, seeing the ocean rise inches by inches, the spray and foam rising higher on the shore. I retreated towards the weather-beaten cliff face, and started to poke around in the rock pools there.

My neighbor told me that there had been a tin mine back in the cliff, and I could make out, amidst shattered boulders, some ancient timbers, and fragments of iron rails. He'd explained that after a small excavation over a few months the seam of ore had played out and the works were abandoned. For a time, he told me, or legend said, that the tunnel had been a spot known to smugglers and lovers. But time had eaten away and the roof had finally fallen in. Such are the works of man, I mused, and of lovers. Even solid rock can give way, let alone tender feelings and professions of love, to the ravages of time.

I sat cross-legged on top of a large flat boulder to think things over. Edith – Martin – Louisa – Ruth; they each went round and round in my head for a while. Edith the prickly and testy doctor, who had little regard for her patients, although she was a fertility specialist. Martin, the former star surgeon, laid low by haemophobia and anxiety attacks, as well as his severe upbringing. And Louisa the pretty, yet not perfect, GP's wife and head teacher, who tended to flee when things got tricky. And finally, there was Ruth – my friend – who had called out to me to help her only nephew.

It was a strange Venn diagram, one of those math things of sets which showed relations by overlapping areas. One circle represented Edith, another was Martin, and then there was me. Overlap them a little and it would show the teeniest sliver of connections. Oops, I missed Louisa. She overlapped Martin, and Edith, and me, plus Ruth, who was another circle. So, I was wrong. There were _large_ areas of each circle overlapping others – all those circles together. And I was smack in the middle of the messy picture.

What was I to do? Abandon Martin and Louisa's therapy? Confront Ruth over the issue? Or muddle through? Or… was there _anything_ that Edith told me which would turn me against Martin and his actions?

I tried to replay what Edith had said about him, and there was much that I already knew about him from speaking directly to the man; his awkwardness, his repressed emotions, and so on. But there was something else she had telegraphed quite clearly; that Martin had chosen to stay with the mother of his child. He impressed me as someone who when he knew a proper course of action, he would stick to it, despite any and all criticisms. So that alone gave me some measure of confidence that he was a person of courage and strength. Why else would he have stayed with a pregnant Louisa, without benefit of marriage, not only before but also after the baby's birth? Oh, dear how the tongues would have wagged in the village over them.

I had a notion that three persons in a small village would be held in highest regard; the teacher, the preacher, and the doctor. The teacher and doctor had done the deed, and made a baby, long before appearing before the altar, and everyone knew it. Louisa said the teen girls laughed when they saw her in the street as her baby grew inside her. Likely the girls were quite glad that they weren't preggers themselves but seeing an authority figure pregnant and out of wedlock would feed their sense of bullying. And Martin would try to ignore such things, yet it might hurt him deeply.

My hand stole down to rest below the waistband of my trousers. "That might have been me," I mused, but in London I'd have been a mum among many. Ben's face flashed in my mind. "And where are you at this moment?" I whispered. "Has Gloria got you where she wants you?" I shook my head. "And where are you, dear Rachel? Moaning over your past when you ought to be thinking about what to do with your patients? The depressed fisherman is one thing – he's _easy_ to sort – but the teacher and the GP?" I laughed. "Oh, good Lord, what a mess."

I had taken a jacket with me, so I spread it behind me on the rough rock and laid down looking straight up at the sky, which was just darkening with sunset. I'd told Louisa that she had tried to run away from her problems. "Isn't that what I did?" I sighed to myself. "Fled off to the hinterlands?" My hand went back to my flat stomach. "I had to do something, for my sanity."

I don't know how long I laid there, and perhaps I dozed, for when I looked, the sun had dropped below the horizon. I roused myself to watch the stars and bright planets start to come out, one by one, in the twilight. I knew that orange one up there was the planet Mars, where her two tiny moons, spun madly across her sky. I'd done a report about the planet while in school. Phobos and Deimos, were her moons, and in Greek mythology were companions to Ares the God of War, their names meaning panic / fear and terror / dread.

"Rachel, get a move on girl," I told myself, "Best be off home." Sitting up, I jumped down to the sand, and discovered in shock that I was in water over my trainers. "Damn! The tide's come in!" The entire beach was awash, so slogging along I headed towards the stair which led down the cliff.

I tripped over some rocks which tried to drive my toes back into my foot. "Bollocks!" Next, I fell into a deep spot or two and got wet through, soaking my mobile in my pocket. Damn! I staggered to my feet, and now was pushed hard against the cliff, as I tried to find the shallowest depth to wade. Now waves foamed up my thighs, with a harsh one or two splashing my face and chest. It had now gone really dark, no moon overhead, but the Milky Way showed clearly in the sky. The land was almost gone from sight and I was _still_ in icy water.

The swells surged higher, and I actually had to swim for it in deep spots, while waves tried to bash me again against the cliff. Panic, the companion to terror, was just behind me all the way. Colin had warned me! Why didn't I have a care about the time? Stupid Rachel! Stupid Townie!

Somehow, I managed to half-wade and half-swim to the huge rock which hid the stone steps up the cliff. I was nearly spent as I circled it. In relief I saw the iron chain railing gleaming in the dimness, just as a monster wave grabbed me and swept me backwards. I came up spluttering and I yelled. But who would hear me way out here? No one around for miles. But I called out anyway. "Help! Help me!"

The steps were right there, almost in reach, but another wave got me. As I went under water, I thought I could hear someone shouting my name. "Here!" I screamed when I got my mouth clear. "I'm down here!" I gazed up the steps and a million miles away I caught the tiny wink of a torch. Again, I heard my name.

"Rachel! Hold on!" the faint voice said as the light came closer. "I'm coming!"

I grabbed onto the rough rock, and held out my other hand, while the tide did its best to take me to sea. My legs were shaking with cold and exhaustion, and I nearly sank again just as a strong hand grabbed mine.

"Rachel? Oh my God!" Colin yelled over the roar of the waves. "I got you girl!"


	36. Chapter 36

Chapter 36 – Aftershock

"What _were_ you thinking?" Colin asked as he half-dragged me up to the top of the stone stairs and then to the footpath.

"How'd… you find me?" I spluttered. I looked back and could see waves pummeling the foot of the steps. Too close, Rachel; far too close.

"You didn't come back to your house. No lights. And I worried. Found your bike on the path, so I figured… that… you _must_ be down on the beach. You okay now?"

I was soaked, had a spot on my left shin that hurt like hell, my mobile had been drenched with salt water, and I had sand and salt – well – everywhere. "Just cold."

Colin stopped our trek, wrapped his arms around me and began to rub my back. "You poor thing."

I felt quite stupid. "So stupid. Should have been more careful."

He held me close. "You silly goose, you could've…" I heard him gulp. "Gotten… uhm, hurt."

"Yeah. Helluva time for a swim." I closed my eyes, just enjoying his warm embrace. "Colin… thanks. Thanks for coming after me." I pushed him away so I could see his face, which showed concern in the light of his torch.

His arms dropped to his sides. "Like I'd…" he gulped, "let something… happen. How did you _not_ notice the tide coming up?"

I shrugged. "Just lost track of the time. Dozed off I guess."

"That little nap could have …" He looked like he was going to say more, but he took my arm. "Come on. Back home in a jiff." In short order he had me tucked into his banged-up Peugeot hatchback.

Soon enough we were outside my door. By now I was shaking, both from reaction and cold I guess. Colin jumped out, opened my door, helped me to my feet, and hiked me up to the door.

"Key?" he asked. "I'll pick up your bike tomorrow."

"Fine." I wrapped my arms around chest. "I'll just…" I looked at him and perhaps _really_ saw him for the first time. He had nice hair and kind eyes, although they were pinched with worry, and his arms had been both strong and warm. "Door's not locked."

He opened the door, and ushered me in, switching on the lights. He took in the clean interior, then looked down at my leg, which was oozing blood through my jeans. "Nasty. That needs… looking after."

Right then I didn't care about the hole in my leg, for I knew immediately what I _wanted_ , no _needed_ , and it made _no_ sense. Rachel you don't need someone to look after you, do you? And if you do, does it imply that you are not capable of caring for yourself? Knowing what I knew, though, it was nice to have somebody, shall we say, show concern about me? At least on an academic level?

He interrupted my trance. "You go now; into the loo. Get washed up; warmed up. I'll put the kettle on. Hot tea, I think, will fix you up."

"Right," I sighed softly.

"Do you need help?"

"No. I can manage." I pulled my mobile from my back pocket and gave it to him. Water and sand dripped from it onto his palm. "Think you can do anything with this?"

He wrinkled his nose. "We'll see. Might be buggered."

So, I squished my way to my bedroom and a hot shower. I dropped all my clothes in a pile, started the water, and when the water was warmed up I got in. The hot water made me yelp, but I was so cold, as well as mucky with sand, I had to stand there for minutes with water pouring on me, until my shivering stopped. Only then could I wash myself. In there I could still feel the waves surging, dragging me backwards, knocking me over, and filling my mouth and nose with salt water. That's when it hit me, and I started bawling; just shattered.

I heard a tentative knock on the bathroom door. "Rachel? You alright? I thought I heard…" Colin called through the door.

I stifled my sobs enough to answer, "Yes! I'm fine!" Don't come in here Colin, please don't, I begged in my head.

"If you say so. Tea's about ready!" he called.

I washed my hair, added conditioner, and rinsed it. Shutting off the water, I got a towel and dried myself. My eyes were all red, but I could blame that on the sea. A dollop of antibiotic gel and two plasters covered the oozing scrape on my shin. My fingertips were also abraded from the rocks, and I'd snapped off two nails, so I trimmed them all short and sanded them smooth. By then my eyes had lost some of their weepy appearance. I pulled on sweatpants and a long-sleeve shirt, brushed my hair, and added a light dab of lipstick. Thick fluffy socks covered my feet, but they still felt icy.

I followed the scent of freshly brewed tea and toasted bread to the kitchen. Colin had wrapped a towel around his waist and was standing by the cooker.

"Hey, you look good," Colin told me. "You had me worried." He'd set the table for two, with the teapot ready, along with cups, sugar, and cream. "I toasted muffins." He dropped two of them onto a platter and he opened my fridge. "You want some eggs? I do cook a mean omelet."

I sat down. "Okay." I was reaching out a shaky hand to pour tea when he took the pot away.

"Let me. Milk?"

"No, just sugar, I think."

He grimaced but he poured the tea anyway. "You drink it black?" He was cradling four eggs in one hand and my frying pan in the other.

"Not usually, no."

He nodded, then prepared the eggs as I munched my way through a muffin laded with butter and jam.

In short order, he ladled a nice-looking omelet onto a plate and gave it to me. "Ah, cheese," I sniffed appreciatively.

"You had a brick, so I threw that in."

"You cook."

He half-bowed. "One of my talents."

I dug into the eggs and they were perfect; not too hard or too runny, and tasty. "And yummy as well." I looked up and he was grinning at me. "The eggs I mean."

"Sure," he said, his grin vanishing.

"Don't just stand there, Colin. Join me. Please?"

He pulled out the chair next to mine, and poured himself tea, with milk and sugar. Took a sip. "Cheers. Fine night for an adventure, wasn't it?"

I laughed.

"Good." His eyes twinkled. "Still got a sense of humor."

I kept eating. "Thanks," after I'd finished. "You don't have to stick around."

"Oh," he answered, "I'll stay until I know you're okay."

"I'm fine. Really."

He looked down, then pointed towards the floor.

I looked where his finger led, and saw that blood had soaked through my sweats and was now dripping onto the slate. "Oh my God!" I hadn't noticed.

He knelt down on the floor. "Let's have a look," he directed. Then he sheepishly looked up at me. "May I?"

"Yeah," I said nervously.

He lifted my foot and peeled up my trouser leg. The plasters had gone adrift and the wound was a bleeding mess. Blood freely trickled down my shin, dripping onto my sock.

"God, I fixed that," I said.

He got the kitchen roll, sat back down on his chair and lifted my leg into his lap, and pushed the sweats up to my knee. Then he made a folded pad of two towels and applied pressure to the wound. "I'll keep the pressure on; keep a hold this for a few minutes." He pressing gently but firmly on my shin.

I sighed. This man cared, was cautious, and thoughtful. The last time a man had touched my leg was my doctor. But this was different. This was… I caught myself. "What _are_ you doing?"

"Hm? Rending first aid."

"No, I mean…" I changed the subject. "Why are you here? Why are you trying to keep the pub running? Hardly seems…" I shrugged.

"Worthwhile?" He peeked under the makeshift bandage, then added another layer of towel and went back to squeezing my leg. "It's not," he sighed. "It was Tim's, my brother, and…" He cleared his throat.

"Liz told me he died."

"Yeah," he sighed. "Surfing accident. Big waves on a beach up in Wales. He got knocked down by a big roller, hit his head. Drowned."

"I am sorry."

Colin grimaced, then his face took on the look of the bereaved. "He was twenty-eight. Left a wife and a little girl behind." He smiled ruefully. "He'd asked me to come down from Manchester that weekend to go surfing with him and his mates. But I was too busy." He shook his head. "I was working for a bank then. Stayed late that Friday to finish paperwork that could have waited, and missed the surfing. Was the bloody paperwork worth more than his life?" he sighed. "I keep thinking what if I'd been there?" He stared at me. "What if?"

I put my hand on top of his (the one atop the bandage on my shin) and rubbed it. "I am sorry. When was this?"

"Three years ago." He tossed his head and I could see his eyes were wet. "Ah… these things happen."

"You cared for him."

"Yeah. Tim was my younger brother. My dad, well… he left us, so mum divorced him, and later she met Charles. Tim's dad. I was eight when Tim was born. Half-brother, see?"

"Grief never quite goes away, just… lessens," I told him as I squeezed his hand. So, doing the math, Colin was thirty-nine.

He nodded. "Right." His arm twitched, so I lifted my hand off his. "Right," he repeated. "Now for a bandage and antiseptic cream." He stood, transferred my leg onto his chair, and moved my hand to press on the towels. "Hold that. First aid things in the bathroom?"

I could only nod yes, then I watched him slowly walk into my bedroom, while I bit my lip.

 **Authors's note:**

 **I owe a big 'thank you' to reader Snowsie2011 who, through great questions, made me ask myself, and then answer who Colin was and what is in his background . :)**


	37. Chapter 37

Chapter 37 – Midnight

Colin expertly bandaged the hole in my leg (yes it was a hole; definitely a hole) and again I felt care radiating through his hands as he expertly fixed me up.

"There," he said, patting my knee. "Good as new. Just keep it dry, change the dressing daily." He held up the tube of ointment. "You're nearly out of this. I have some at my house. I'll bring it by tomorrow when I get your bike back from the path."

I admired the way he'd cleaned my injury with peroxide, patted it dry, slathered it with cream, and then covered the raw spot with two gauze pads and then strips of adhesive tape. "You're a pro."

He shrugged. "Naw. Not."

I smiled at him. He was a man of many talents. "So, the pub… is that all you do?" I asked, "Besides the occasional rescue and home first-aid?"

"Oh," he sighed, "I do other things." He got up, crossed the room, and pawed through books that were part of furnishings.

I wondered what he was looking for.

After a minute or two, he grunted, "Ah." He walked back and handed me a glossy travel book, a bit dog-eared from wear. The cover was a photo of the sea, with a green cliff next to, and a gravel footpath, along with an Ordinance survey map snippet. The title was 'Treks and Rambles in Historic Cornwall' followed by Colin's name. "This."

"You wrote this?"

He bowed. "Yes milady; 'tis mine."

I flipped through the book. It was chock-a-block with photos and text, along with way pointed maps, keyed to points of interest. "My goodness, this was a lot of work. You did this recently?"

He turned the book over in my hands and pointed to the line '3rd Edition' on the cover. "Workin' up in Manchester, I found I missed my home. So…" he waved a hand, "I had to write about Cornwall. Took five years to get it done and published. I suppose it was found useful," he said modestly. "Publisher's got me workin' on a book on the moorland as well. I spent a few weeks out there walking around; taking pictures and talkin' to locals." He sighed. "I figure the new one will take me about a year to get right." He cleared his throat. "You see I touched on the moors, but ramblers want more of that." He chuckled. "More on the moors."

"A very capable man, then, Bravo."

"Thank you," he said, clearly uncomfortable with my words.

"You don't like taking praise?"

He shrugged. "I rather not be any different than any of the others hereabouts. I grew up the other side of Delabole. Local boy."

"I see." A modest man. "Good for you."

He nodded. "How's the leg feel?"

"Fine." I tried to stifle a yawn. "Better now."

He sighed. "Well…" he said as looked at his watch. "Getting late. You need your rest." He jumped up. "I'll do the washing up and be out of your hair."

"Colin," I got up and followed him into the kitchen, "there's no need…"

Without a word, he scraped the dishes and the pan, and ran water into the sink. "My mum used to say if you make a mess, clean it up. Then she'd add, 'don't make a mess.'"

"She sounds a lot like mine. Does she live around here?"

He shook his head as he started to wash the tea mugs. "Charles, my step-dad, got made redundant about ten years ago, but there was a grievance. Unlawful termination, they called it, when his freight company got bought up. Seems there was dirty dealing on the hands of the purchasers." He shook his head. "When they closed the place, worst day of his life, of course, and the next winter was pretty grim with rain and cold. By then he was already looking for sunnier climes. Just about the time the lawsuit got settled, he and mum had taken jobs in a resort in Majorca." He laughed aloud. "So, they're down there running a beach supply store for some Belgian owner. Turned out alright in the end."

I picked up the kitchen towel and took a washed mug from his hand after he rinsed it. "Leaving you here."

He grinned. "Oh, but I've visited them four or five times. And of course…" his face darkened. "When Tim…"

I set the dried mug on the counter and hugged him around the waist. "I know."

His jaw worked but he said nothing, until a few seconds later he cleared his throat. "I got the pub and the book stuff, and my sister-in-law, that's Roswyn, lives outside Bath with her daughter, Nancy." He looked over his shoulder and I released him. "She's Tim's widow."

And with that I'd heard a good bit of Colin's family history. "How old is your niece?"

"Seven, and the brightest little girl you've ever seen. Tim had hair like mine, dark, but Nancy somehow got her mother's fair-hair." He laughed. "She calls me Col. When she little she couldn't get her tongue around Colin. So, I'm Col to her. She's a darling child and quick as a whip." He shook his head. "Aren't they all at that age?"

My ghost girl had flashed into my head as he told me about his niece. "Right, they can be." I turned away to get the towel back in business, but I felt sad; for him and me. When I looked at him again, he had an inquisitive look on his face. "I'm fine," I told him automatically.

"Oh – kay. Right," he said, but he still looked dubious.

"I am. Fine." My ghost girl smiled and then slowly disappeared as I looked into his eyes.

We didn't say much else to each other until the washing up was done. He rinsed the sink of suds then carefully hung the towel over the oven door handle. "There," he said, "spick-and-span once more."

I took a deep breath and said, "So, Colin…"

Just as he said, "So, Rachel…"

We laughed at once.

"Nearly midnight," he told me as he yawned. "Bedtime, I think."

He was a nice man, but there were holes in his heart, just like mine. "Yes, uhm, Colin…"

He was trying to look anywhere than at me. "Rachel?"

Then I reached out, pulled him into a close hug, and kissed his cheek. "Thank you – for everything." His cheek was stubbly with short whiskers, and he smelled of damp clothing and male sweat. I felt my body begin to respond just holding him.

He started to recoil, but then he relaxed and his arms wrapped around me. "Sure," he said softly, as his lips kissed my ear. "Glad that things, uh, worked out."

After a few seconds, I let him go and he broke his part of our embrace. He quickly left the kitchen and practically ran to the front door, without a word. I knew I'd torn it, just the way he reacted. Damn. Damn it all! Stupid, Rachel, the first time a man comes around... and you do that? Idiot!

I chased after him. "I mean, Colin, uhm, thank you, and I do mean it."

He put his hand on the doorknob and started to turn it.

"Look. Sorry about the kiss, back there. That was _silly_ of me," I blurted out.

"Right. Glad to be… helpful." He ducked his head. "I'll get your bicycle back in the morning." He went out the door, but he stopped after one step. "I'm not."

"Not?"

"Not sorry – for the kiss. It… it was _good,_ Rachel," he said softly, then he touched his forehead in salute. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight Colin." I watched as he drove away. I closed the door, switched off the front room lights, and got ready for bed, too aware how quiet the house was. In bed at midnight I started to read Colin's travel guide.

After a time, I set the book down, turned off the light and settled for sleep. But it was no use; two things intruded into my thoughts. One was the waves that had tried to drown me and the helpless feel of losing control.

The other thing was the empty side of my queen size bed, and then all I could think of was the feel of Colin's body and his scent. So, it took a _very_ long time for sleep to take me.


	38. Chapter 38

Chapter 38 – Muddled

I went out in the garden with my breakfast after putting on jeans and tank-top. The gaily waving flowers didn't cheer me up or settle me, for I was muddled. As I munched my toast I wondered what it had all about been about; with Colin. I dreamt about what had happened, and not just about the beach either. In my fitful sleep Colin was always there – in my head – waking or dreaming. Needless to say, it was… unsettling.

As I sat on one of the two chairs in the garden, I let the wind try to blow the cobwebs out of my head, not that it seemed to help.

"Rachel?" someone called my name.

I turned and saw Ruth Ellingham peering around the corner of the house.

"Ruth? What brings you out here?"

She smiled. "I tried to call you last night, and again this morning; wondering how you were."

I pushed the other chair out for her. "Join me?"

"Oh, I've eaten." She took a seat anyway. "But I will sit with you."

"Oh, and my mobile… got damaged."

"You missed my calls." She nodded. "I see." She examined me closely for a few seconds. "And how are you?"

"Fine." I could tell this was not quite a social visit. "Ah, Ruth, it is good to see you, however, I am expecting a patient in around 40 minutes."

"Yes, of course, ahem," she cleared her throat, "then I won't take much of your time. I was wondering how you are."

"You asked me that."

She pursed her lips. "I did, didn't I?"

"I am fine, I just said," I lied again. I was trying to be fine, and perhaps I was, until last night. And now?

Ruth stared at me closely. "If you say so."

I took a deep breath. "But all the same, why have you come?"

She looked away, towards the sun, and squinted in the light. "Beautiful out here, isn't it?"

I nodded.

"Ri - ght," she stammered. "Rachel, I wanted to ask you… oh you'll think me terribly unprofessional… but… I… _please_ pardon me for being an old fool…"

"This is about your nephew and his wife, isn't it?" I feared that she might ask, and now she had.

She bobbed her head. "Perceptive, as always."

"You must know that I can't tell you _anything_."

She sighed. "I know. But… how are they doing?"

I crossed my arms. "Ruth, _no_. I won't – I can't."

She looked away. "I suppose he told you about his parents."

"Yes."

"And about Joan and Phil, and the summers he spent down here."

"He has."

She shook her head. "I'm only asking because… because I do love my nephew. And his wife, although I will tell you that at first I was totally against him marrying her."

"Why did you not approve of their getting married?" Or even having a child?

She shrugged. "At the time I thought that he and she would be a disaster, and perhaps I imagined that he might be able to go back to being a surgeon. With Louisa from the village – country girl, all that – oh, she'd hold him back."

Hot blood rushed to me face. "But Ruth _you_ are the one who sent Martin to see me! If you _wanted_ them to breakup, then _why_ do that? Considering that we're deep in couples' therapy, and I believe that they are making headway?" I shook my head. " _Really_."

She held up a lined hand so I stopped. "That was _then_ – the way I felt, before. Very nose-in-the-air of me, and I was wrong; dead wrong." She gulped. "I do want them to succeed; he and she to be a couple. Happy if possible, and to be good parents to their child."

I leaned in towards her. "Just do not interfere with the course of the therapy? Yes?"

She looked at the sun once more. "Rachel, I'd _never_ sabotage them."

"But what changed your mind? About Martin and Louisa?"

She grinned. "There are moments in which I can see how much they care for one another. And the both of them had _rubbish_ parents. Hers were poor, and his well off; not that money made any difference there. Oh, I've heard the stories, rumors no doubt, about Louisa's young life. But she is a strong woman because of what she's gone through. And she must be very solid to deal with my nephew. And him?" she sighed. "You've seen how he can be awkward – scared I think. You know he was trying to convince himself that he had a medical problem?"

"When was this?"

"Before Louisa went off to Spain. The man was in a frenzy trying to find a medical reason for his feelings. Physician heal thyself, they say." She laughed. "He was in love with her and it was tearing him apart that they were in trouble. She was leaving and he didn't know how to stop her." She shook her head. "I do believe that if he had said to her, 'Louisa, please stay' she would have. Joanie, my late sister, always called him little Marty; like a child. But he's a grown man now, but my goodness he can fall back into very strange behaviors when he gets upset or frustrated." She grinned. "So you can see what a broken thing I sent you to patch up."

"Yes," I responded. "I have seen that. He sits there just as a schoolboy about to be disciplined."

Ruth stood up. "I'll be off, and you have a visitor."

I looked where Ruth was facing. Colin was standing there with my bike. "Oh hi," I said to him.

"Hi." He pushed the bike to the house and leaned it against the wall. Then he brushed his hands on his shirt and offered the right one to Ruth. "I'm Colin Helyer," he said.

"Ruth Ellingham," she replied as she took his hand. "A friend of Rachel."

"Yeah… me as well. I was just…" he reddened. He stood there not quite knowing what to say. He was caught off guard, and so was I.

I spoke up, "Thank you for bringing my bike back. Stupid of me to leave it out on the footpath."

Ruth looked from me to Colin and back, and I saw a faint smirk appear on her face. "I'll leave you two. _Nice_ to meet you Colin. _Good_ to see you again, Rachel. Have a nice day." Then she toddled off.

After she was gone, Colin asked, "Who's she?"

"A friend. I knew her in London."

"Ah." He dug into a pocket and took out my mobile. "Here."

"Does it work?"

"Powers up. But you'll have to enter the password to see if it is completely functions."

I took it from him, pressed a few keys and I could log in. "You are a miracle worker."

He touched his forehead. "Not really. I found a writeup on the Internet. I stripped out the battery and the SIM card and dropped it all into pure alcohol* for an hour. Pulled the salt water right out of it. Dried it well. The glass doesn't even seem to be water-logged."

I examined the mobile. "I… I'm speechless."

"The bike? I oiled your chain. It squeaked, and the derailleur was out of line too. Brakes are alright though."

I shoved my mobile into my back pocket. "Electronic wizard and basic bicycle mechanic. My, you quite the handy fellow."

"Try to be." He glanced at his watch. "Best get busy."

"You've done quite a lot of work this morning already."

He had turned away, then he looked back at me over his shoulder. "I… I didn't get much sleep last night – so I got an early start. See you later."

Colin too was sleepless? Hm. "Right, and… thank you."

He stopped and I saw his Adam's move as he gulped. "And for heaven's sake, look at a tide table before you go down to beach. Will you?"

I nodded. "Yeah, right."

He sighed. "Good," he said, and then he smiled.

 **Author's note:**

 *** 99% isopropyl alcohol will remove salt water, as well as fresh water, from a soaked mobile, or so I have read.**


	39. Chapter 39

Chapter 39 – Ahead

"Wot you mean?" Eddie, the depressed fisherman asked me.

"I mean, Eddie, when you're _wife_ phoned you what was _your_ reaction? How did it make you _feel_?"

"It… wasn't… uh, very convenient; not… at… all," he stammered.

"And why's that?"

The man positively blushed. "I… I was with… someone… and… you see…" he spluttered again. " _She_ didn't like it."

"Who? Your wife?"

"No, the lady I was with."

"I see." Eddie had been branching out. This was good or bad.

"You see?" he nearly bellowed. "You see? How in hell can _you_ see? Hm? How can you know about the absolute hell my old _cow_ put me through? Constantly naggin', pokin'; makin' suggestions." Then he shifted into a mocking and high-pitched voice. "Can't you get a better job? Why do you leave the lights on all the time? I've asked you millions of times NOT to wear them stinkin', disgustin', shoes into the house!" He stared at me through haunted eyes, then in his normal voice said, "Doc, there weren't a thing I could for that woman that made her happy."

"So her call made you unhappy."

"Unhappy? Oh damn me yes. You see me and the other… well, I got this new, uh, friend… and… we was…" he looked at the floor. "Gettin' just a little romantic. My wife – never could make her happy - not in the _kitchen_ nor in the _bedroom_ , so me and my new friend… friendly like… was…"

I held up my hand and thankfully he quit talking. "We have established that her call did not arrive at a good time."

"Well, we was havin' a _wonderful_ time until my bleedin' mobile rang!" he shouted.

"Eddie, you did answer the phone, in the middle of your, ahem, romantic moment." I smiled at him grimly. "I think that it is possible that in _some_ way _you_ may have been looking for _some_ excuse," I shrugged, "to stop what you were getting up to."

That's when he started to cry. "Damn me, damn me," he started to blubber.

I hand him a box of tissues and he used many. After he had stopped crying he said, "I suppose you got that right in one!" he sighed. "I miss that old cow of mine. Wish she was comin' back."

I sighed. The psychiatrist's dilemma. Try to move the patient back to where they had been, or try to get them to try new experiences. I pushed a bin his way and he moved the pile of wadded up tissues from his lap into it. Eddie was where I had been just before I recognized that Ben and I were done; finished, kaput, end of the line. So, after no communication on _his_ part, and then seeing that ultra-seductive Gloria on his arm, had put paid to us – once and for all.

"Eddie, what do you want?"

He shook his head. "I don't know."

"What I'm asking is this. Do you want to work on getting back together with your wife, and that will take effort; both you _and_ your wife, or do you want to move ahead; move on to other… experiences?"

The burly fisherman shook his head. "I… hell, Doc, I don't know."

I nodded at him. "That's fine. Next session, let's talk about that."

He stood up. "Dr. Timoney?"

"Yes?"

His lip quivered. "Do you think that I ought to go talk to her? My wife I mean?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. Do you think your relationship has been damaged beyond repair?"

He sighed. "That's the bugger, ain't it?"

"Yes, yes it is," I countered.

"What's worse? Full ahead or into reverse?"

"A reversal does _not_ mean that you _cannot_ change things – both you and your wife." I smiled. "But ahead may be fascinating as well. Just don't go full ahead all at once."

Eddie chuckled. "You'd make a hell of a helmsman Doc!" Eddie went to the door, laughing. "Full speed ahead _or_ back!" he snickered as he left.

'Pick a course' Sara had told me, and now I was telling that to my patients.

Eddie was my last for the day, so I decided to go over to the pub.

'My Brother's Place' actually had a few customers when I entered. I'd say about a 400% improvement from the usual state of affairs. Liz was behind the bar and she flashed me a smile as I approached.

"Hi Rachel," she greeted me. "The usual?"

"Tribute," I said to her.

The man sitting at the bar gave me the eye.

"Hello," I said cautiously. I was a stranger and some Cornish had no use for the likes of me.

"Hey," he grunted. "You a doctor?"

"Yes, yes I am."

He held out his left hand, most of which was wrapped in a foul-smelling and wet-looking rag. "Wot you think of this?"

I peeked under a fold of cloth. Ugh. It was bad looking, for I could see torn scabs, old and new blood, and pus. "Sorry, wrong sort of doctor. What happened to it?"

"Mashed it. Lobster pot. Three days back."

"You need to see a doctor for that. I am a doctor – but I treat diseases of the mind, not body."

"Hmph," he said, clearly not believing me.

I probed under the bandage again and could see the distal end of one finger was dead white and the whole hand was swollen and inflamed. "That must be painful. I am sure that Dr. Ellingham down in Portwenn can see to it." I took out my mobile. "Shall I ring him for you?"

"Nah," the man said. "I know him. Rude bugger. He likes to yell; a lot." He went back to his pint.

I gazed at the man, for he was a typical older fisherman, not unlike Eddie. It will take something to shift him. I leaned close and whispered, "That wound is nasty and if you don't want to lose your hand, or at least some fingers, you need to have it attended to. _Today_."

He recoiled. "You _can't_ mean that."

"I do and I believe that Dr. Ellingham's surgery is open until five." I pointed to the clock on the wall. "If you hurry you can just catch him, or go to hospital in Truro." I looked at the man sitting next to him. " _You_ – take him there."

The second man tossed back his pint then slammed the empty vessel onto the bar. "Told you," he grunted. "Come on John, you stupid bugger. Up you get. To the Doc's with you."

I watched the two men leave and I shook my head. Gangrene? Not quite.

Liz nodded at me. "Good one." She pushed a packet of crisps to me. "On the house."

"Oh that's all right."

She leaned across the bar and quietly said, "I told Colin… about me and Janie. That we're a couple." I watched her face as it grew into a small smile. "Said he was proud of me that I finally told him."

"Good then."

The girl sighed. "Now I have to tell my parents."

"Do you think they will react badly?"

"I… I hope not."

"Just tell them. They'll be fine."

Liz looked at the room, as two men and a woman came in. "Seems simple enough. You want to go in the back and wash your hands?" She shuddered.

"Right." I went to the loo and did as she had reminded me. I imagined that Martin would be quite rude as he told off the fisherman how he could have died. His way was yelling, but was what I had just told the man any worse? I'd put some fear into the man and his mate had gotten the message as well.

Coming out of the toilet, I heard pots banging back in the kitchen so I peeked in. Mike, the cook, was nowhere to be seen, but Colin was there up to his elbows in soap suds.

I walked towards him. "What are you up to? Where's Mike?"

"I sent him home; he was coughing up a storm." He nodded at the pile of dirty pots and dishes on the counter. "You can see the mess I got here, and after I clean this up I need to get cooking."

I snagged a towel off a drying rack and held out my hand. "You wash. I'll dry."

"Rachel, you don't have to."

I made the come-here motion with my hand so he rinsed a frying pan and held it out. As I reached for it, our fingers touched. I took a deep breath, then squeezed his hand briefly, before I took the pan to dry it.

He turned to me and beamed. "Rachel," he said softly.

"Colin," I answered. Ahead is far better than reverse.


	40. Chapter 40

Chapter 40 - Starters

I cleared my throat and asked him, "Sometimes it is good to talk about the beginning of a relationship. Martin, what were your first impressions of Louisa?"

He thought about my question for a few seconds before he answered. "Hm. A woman in her thirties, appearing to be in good health, but suffering from acute glaucoma."

I waited for more, but it was all about the medicine to him. "That it?"

"Well, I'd only just met her."

I turned to Louisa and smiled encouragingly. "Tell me your first impressions of Martin."

Her hands twitched as she said, "I thought he wouldn't last five minutes in Portwenn."

Martin got a sour look.

"Why's that?" I asked her.

"He just looked out of place here," she said tonelessly.

"So you fell in love with someone you thought from the outset wouldn't stay," I replied.

Now her face got a concerned look. "Um, I didn't do it on purpose. Not consciously anyway." She sighed heavily.

Martin now looked really concerned, so before he could jump in I asked her, "Your parents left you… is that what love means to you?"

She stared at me. "Um, not really sure what you're getting at."

"Have you considered that the example that your parents set has affected you more deeply than you think? You fall in love with someone that you think will leave you." I was trying to shake her up – both of them. I wanted them to get off away from their self-centered situations.

Louisa tried not to look at Martin but she finally did, and he returned her scared expression; although his was more of a grim wince. So, next I asked, "What do you both actually want? From your relationship? Martin?"

"To be with Louisa," he said hesitantly and almost tenderly. "I… miss her."

Louisa gave him one of her sweet smiles, then she turned to me. " _Right_. Where do we go from here?"

Good question. "We were talking about first impressions. You could get to know one another better; spend some time together and enjoy each other's company."

"You mean a date?" she asked.

"Exactly."

"We, uh… we didn't really go on dates. We just sort of…" she shrugged.

I smiled. "Now's your chance! Martin? How does that sound to you?"

He asked, "I'm sorry, I don't really understand."

She rolled her eyes as he answered. "Martin," I told him, "it's quite common for a couple, every now and again, to have a meal out together."

"A meal in a restaurant," he said.

"Yes."

He shook himself. "Yes."

I felt like I was speaking to a child, as I led him along. "Martin, that's exactly right." I smiled brightly at them. "We can discuss how it went next time."

She nodded.

I stood, and so did he. Then he mentioned a Lancet article to me.

"No. I don't subscribe."

"It has a very good article on the interface between psychotherapists and general practitioners. It's very well written."

Louisa seemed put off by our medical interaction. "Mind if I borrow it?" I asked.

She marched away to stand stiffly by the door, swinging her handbag in a small arc. I could feel the annoyance from where I stood. Why is she upset over a journal article? Hm. Perhaps it's that Martin is showing interest in the therapist? Was she jealous? Of me – as another - woman? Oh Louisa, I think I have my own man, thank you very much.

He cleared his throat. "No, no. Here. I brought it for you. Keep it." He held out a journal to me.

"Thank you," I told him, as I accepted the Lancet.

He ducked his head in that funny way of his, burying his chin into his chest. "Yes."

I walked him over to the door where Louisa waited and I saw from her semi-blank expression that she was upset, and yet trying not to show it. "Louisa, is something wrong?"

"No," she snapped. "Come on Martin; back to the village. School for me and surgery for you." She took his arm in an obvious and possessive way, the way she pulled him against her hip. "Goodbye," she told me.

I said to them, "And don't worry about making this date a big do. Just dinner and a chat. Get to know one another better."

Martin wrinkled his nose. "Fine."

They stood in front of me, trying not to seem awkward with either other but it was so obvious. "Louisa, Martin," I said to them, "look, I know that we Brits are supposed to remain calm and composed; unflappable - no matter what. Soldier on and all that that, but…" I sighed. "If you actually want your relationship to work, then you have to let it work."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked.

"Let your emotions – at least the good ones – show. Smile at one each other, for Heaven's sake. Touch hands. Hug, kiss – these things are allowed. And you have a child (I parroted her comment on purpose), so? What's next? You both tell me that you love one another. Well show it! Do something with the word – love. Don't let it be an abstract definition of biochemistry, habit, or the expected. _Express_ yourselves. Start acting these things out; don't just think about them. Now, please, go out on a nice dinner date? Now," I opened the door for them. "off you go."

I went out the door with them and watched as they got into his car and left. "What have I done?" I muttered. Difficult couple.

I had watched as she escorted Martin out the door, then she dropped his arm and stomped over to their car. "Hm," I said to myself. "Something I said." Prickly as always, while he looked time and again in these session like he was sitting before the school master waiting for a good hiding.

"You look like a mother duck worrying about her ducklings," someone said.

It was Colin.

"Hi," I said with a tight voice.

"'Lo."

I looked around and didn't see anyone else about, so I stepped towards him. "Colin, about last night?"

"Yeah," his feet pawed at the ground. "I suppose we ought to talk."


	41. Chapter 41

Chapter 41 – Hope

"Colin, about last night?"

"Yeah," his feet pawed at the ground. "I suppose we ought to talk."

We'd certainly done more than just talk. Talk is cheap, as they say, and Lord knows I do a lot of talking in my line of work. I also do a lot of listening and observing. But he and I had not spoken much while I dried pots, pans, trays, and utensils. We just worked together – as companions – but more than that, for when I touched his fingers, or he brushed against me, there were no _spoken_ words between us. Yet the communication that passed was visceral, instinctual, and dare I say _primitive_? Just by standing next to Colin I had felt more than I'd felt for a very long time.

As a psychotherapist I was well versed in noticing the way in which people acted, and that often told me more than what came out of their mouths. As he worked he looked to be relaxed as he scrubbed the post with firm easy strokes. This was a fellow who seemed to be content in washing up. Twice I caught a look from him and both times he was smiling. Smiling over the washing up or smiling because he was with me?

When the last pot was dried, he opened the drain, and together we watched as the dirty water and soap suds swirled away. He grinned at me. "That's a job well done, I think. Thanks for the help."

I hung the towel back on the towel rack. My throat went tight wondering what I ought to say, for I didn't want to discuss kitchen chores. "Not a problem. Glad to help."

He cocked a thumb at the pub room door. "Getting busy. I'd better get the chip oil heating." He crossed his arms and grinned. "Liz says you made a comment about my menu."

"Oh, just seems… you know." I shrugged.

"I know, boring. So," he pointed to a book on the table. "Mike and I been thinkin' about other things to serve up. Better sandwiches. More sides. Salads. Even chicken on a bed of greens, or maybe seafood."

I noticed my heart was beating very fast, and I had to force my legs to stay still. In the back of my head I was mulling over the scent of him as we stood elbow to elbow. Aftershave, the residue of shampoo, a clean smell from what must have been a freshly laundered shirt, his deodorant underlain with a whiff of male sweat. Pheromones are an evolutionary outcome of living in groups, and the olfactory processing of chemical signals is present in all animals. Sometimes it meant that the animal was in estrus or in rut and was therefore available for breeding. Other times the pheromones could be used to mark territory, to lay a scent, or to assert dominance. At other moments such smell signals were signs of anger or contentment.

My breath caught in my throat. I had to ask myself, did I want to mate with Colin? Sounds were sharper, my vision more acute it seemed, and background sounds were muted, while my palms felt damp and my body grew warm. My period was two weeks ago, so I had to conclude that yes, I was affected by Colin's nearness. But it was not just primitive biochemistry. He was a nice man, polite, gentle, as well as caring, and he'd pulled me out of the ocean from an uncertain fate. So, it might be a perfectly good idea to get to know him better.

It felt good to be near him, but mate with? Make a baby with? In modern society procreative acts can _usually_ be separated from sexual recreation. I'd made a baby with Ben, unknowing, and that had not gone well. That brought back my fear of going too fast and too far. I was twisting a strand of hair when he interrupted my thinking.

"Uh, how's the leg feeling?" he asked.

"Oh, uhm," I looked down and wiggled my foot. "Okay. Forgot to change the bandage today though."

Without a word, he sat me down, opened a cabinet and took out a first aid kit, crouched before me, and pulled up my trouser leg to expose a sad looking plaster. He looked up at me. "May I?"

I could only nod, afraid to open my mouth.

He carefully peeled the bandage from my leg. "Not too bad," he observed. He touched my skin near the gash. "That sore? Feel that?"

"Uh, no. Not…" I had to restrain a quiver as he touched me.

He laid his hand flat against my shin. "Doesn't feel hot. Any fever?"

"No. Not… no." Did having warm and enjoyable thoughts about him apply?

He dabbed on antibiotic cream and put a new plaster over my sore. "There. Good as new."

I leaned forward and put my hand on the side of his neck. I could feel his pulse beating. The rim of his jaw was bristly with tiny whiskers. He needed a shave. "Colin, thank you… for the…"

He came closer, put his arms around me and kissed me on the lips, very tenderly and gently, but briefly.

I was startled, but I gave in, so started to return his kiss with one of mine, when Liz's voice interrupted our _tete-a-tete_.

"Ahem!" she laughed from behind me. "Colin? You and Rachel gonna get busy fixin' sandwiches, or ought you just skip supper and dash off to somebody's bedroom?"

I felt my face burn with heat, but he laughed. Giving me a squeeze he rose to his feet. "Liz, mind your own business."

She stared at us wide-eyed, while I pulled the leg of my jeans down. She shook her head and then ordered, "Sandwiches? I need two ham and cheese, a grilled chicken, and chips with all of 'em."

Colin held out a hand and I got up. "Seems we have our orders," I said to him.

He grinned. "The washin' up went well. You game for a bit of cooking?"

I nodded. "Lead on."

Hours later the last patron had gone, and while Liz mopped the floor out in the pub, Colin and I put the kitchen to rights. He opened the fridge and took out two bottles of wine. "White or red?" he asked.

"White, I think."

He poured out two glasses, gave me one, and lifted his in a toast. "To the best London shrink I've ever had in my kitchen. Uh, _worked_ in my kitchen."

That made me laugh. "Double entendre ignored."

I sat down to rest my legs and he sat next to me.

Liz stuck her head in. "Done out there. I'm off." She pulled her handbag and a light jacket from a cubby. "'Night." She winked at us. "You two be good."

Colin was silent until he heard the front door close. "Now Rachel, what are you doing down here?" He looked around the cramped and ancient room. "Cornwall? Back of bloody beyond?"

It was time to level with the man, so I set my glass on the table, reached out and took his hand. "Bit of a strange holiday I know."

He laughed. "To Treligga? You have an awful sense of direction is this is the fun fair you was lookin' for!"

I stared at the floor for a few seconds, then looked him full in the face. "You see, there was this man. And we had a fling, and I got pregnant, and I lost the baby, and I almost died in the process." As I said it I felt a weight lift off my chest.

His face jumped from amusement to sorrow. "Oh Rachel, that's…" he wiped his eyes. "I am sorry. Didn't mean to pry." He rolled his hand over to interlace his fingers with mine; softly as ever – his manner.

"You're not prying."

He shook his head. "And I'm guessin' this man, is _elsewhere_?"

"Moved on. We're done."

"I see."

I tried to smile. "So, I was... running away... down to Cornwall. I had to get out of London. Clear my head. Catch my breath."

He gently withdrew his hand and crossed his arms. "And here I am getting too friendly."

I smiled at him. "Not _too_ – just enough – the kind of friend I need right now." Not that my animal hind-brain would not have dragged him onto the sheets.

"Ah."

"But," I cocked my head, "you can kiss me again, if you like."

"Oh Rachel, _yes_ , I do like." So, he did.

That was last night and now Colin was standing with me in my front garden, having watched a set of patients leave who were struggling with their relationship. Was I any different?

He squinted up at the sun. "We still friends?"

I took his hand and rubbed it. "Yes. Just… give me time… and we'll see how it, uh, _we_ , progress." I dared not tell him how I wanted him last night, but it was mostly my need to be held and to hold.

"Time can heal some wounds, uhm, most… I hope," he answered.

I smiled, as I held his hand in mine. " _Hope_. I like that word."


	42. Chapter 42

Chapter 42 - Failure

"Right, so now tell me, how did the exercise go last week?" I asked Louisa and Martin.

They both responded to me, but it was all a jumble, speaking over one another. Finally, Louisa clearly said, "It was fine." But the why she said it was not filled with confidence.

So, I said, "Fine," as a prompt.

"It was a bit of a disaster," she added. "Are things this difficult for everyone? All this struggling a normal part of the process?

"Well _normal_ is a very loaded word. Not every couple who goes through therapy stays together. But that shouldn't be seen as a failure. Accepting separation is a success in itself."

She answered, "I'm not sure I entirely agree with you. About that."

I looked at them closely. She was concerned, and he looked positively frightened. So, I told them, "That's because you need to challenge your preconceptions of being apart." I took a quiet breath. "I want you to think about the possible advantages that being single might have, and then make a list."

Louisa held her hand at her throat while Martin stared at me with stricken eyes.

I added, "What we want and what we need are never exactly the same thing."

I had wanted Ben, or thought I did, but when that went all to worms with the baby, I had to pause from him. With him working away and our infrequent communications, and then seeing him back in London with that woman had put a stake through my heart. I looked at Martin and Louisa, and they were shocked, or at least they looked so; not expecting to hear what I just said.

"If you can't live together, then you have to consider the benefits of living apart. So, for our next session, make a list of what those benefits might be."

Martin glanced at Louisa. "But we want to be together."

"Yes," I replied.

"So, you are telling us to make a list? Of any perceived advantages of separating."

"That's right."

Louisa shook her head and waved her hands about. "Then what's been the point of all this? The exercises? Spending time together?" She sighed deeply. "If I knew this is where we'd end up I'd never have agreed to counseling." She stood. "Come on Martin. I'm leaving."

He said, "Louisa, wait. Dr. Timoney, I fail to see how this… assignment… will in _any way_ _whatsoever_ further the goal of realigning our marriage!"

Louisa slipped into her coat and waggled her handbag impatiently.

I nodded my head. "As you say."

"So, will it help us stay together?"

"Martin, I did not say that it would help or hurt, did I? I said that in some cases when a couple – split up - that is for the betterment of them. Perhaps you have _already_ considered possible… Look, you must see that a failure of a marriage does not mean that _you_ are a failure."

"Betterment?" he sneered. "Now _you_ say our marriage has failed?"

"No. I didn't say that. But if you were not married then you would be free to pursue," I thought of Eddie the fisherman, "other avenues of relationship."

"Oh, come on!" he bleated. "Avenues of relationship? What's that mean?"

"She means _other people_ , Martin," Louisa said to him. She nodded towards the door. "Let's go."

I watched as he dutifully followed her, and it was clear to me that they acted like there had been a death in the family.

The more I thought it over, I knew that I'd sprung that on them unfairly. They had been making some progress, albeit little, so was it fair of me to drop 'the list' on their heads? The list was a means to get people to think outside the lines. Often it was just the spur needed to make a couple work seriously on things.

That afternoon after Audrey the Weeper had done her forty-five minutes of sobbing in front of me, I resolved to go find Louisa and talk to her. I could have called her mobile, but I thought it best to approach her separately. I wanted to reiterate that they still had a chance; and I ought to have told them before they left this morning in a huff. Her school ought to be out about three, so I drove down to Portwenn a few minutes before the hour.

000

"There was a child stepping out in the road. I think she was holding an ice cream and then… well, it gets fuzzy. So, where's my car again?" I stood at the window looking out of my house. But the car pad was empty – no black convertible.

"You wrecked it Rachel. Bunged up the front end pretty badly."

I turned to face the speaker. "Oh?"

"Yes, the man said. "Taxi brought you home."

I had to concentrate for a moment to recall his name. Colin. Right, _Colin_ was his name. "Where? Um, so where did this happen?"

"Portwenn. Why were you down there?"

I stared at the clock. "It's nearly five in the afternoon. Where did the time go?"

"You got back minutes ago. The taxi man told me all about. Seems the village telegraph was working overtime. You swerved, almost hit a kid with an ice cream; stepped out in front of you."

"Yeah, that was it," I mumbled. "She was behind the ice cream van."

"And," Colin went on, "the GP's wife saw the whole thing."

"Louisa."

"Yes, her. She's the one pulled you out of the car and took you to him to be examined."

"I see." I looked down and I was holding a glass of water, so I took a drink. "Sorry, Ben… I mean _Colin_ … I seem to be a little…" I shrugged not knowing the word for what I was feeling. "I do remember him - the doctor - examining me."

"What'd he say?"

"Oh… keep an eye out for symptoms of concussion. That sort of thing."

He came over to me and brushed the hair off my forehead. "That's a nasty bruise. It'll be a wonder you don't get a black eye."

I prodded the spot over my right eye and it was sore. "I guess I hit something."

"Steering wheel. You hit a bunch of boxes and produce outside the co-op. I guess it was a soft impact, or your car thought so, because the airbag didn't go off. Thusly… head to wheel impact. Your seat harness musta' been loose as well."

"Sure." It was a blur thinking about it.

"Here," he said, holding out his hand. "Paracetamols. Take 'em."

I took the pills and washed them down. "But the girl?"

"Unhurt. You missed her."

I put the glass down, crossed to the sofa and sat down. "Thank God for that," I said and then I started crying. The key word was missed, as in missed, as in didn't hit or run over. I'd failed to run her down. Some good in it, then.

Ben handed me a tissue, then made me lie down. He covered me with a quilt. "Poor kid."

"I'm thirty-two," I said to him.

"Like I said. I'll get some ice for you."

I heard the door open and close and I guess I drifted into a nap.

When I opened my eyes, there was an ice bag on my face, my nose had gone prickly from cold, and I had a throbbing headache.

"Ah, awake." Colin said from his chair next to the sofa. He was holding a magazine.

"Yeah… oh, God my head." I took off the ice bag. "I need the loo… now."

He levered me upright. My head was aching and the room spun a little. "I messed up," I said.

"You'll be fine; the Doc says so, or at least that's what you said to the taxi driver on the ride home." He put his arms under me. "Come on Rach; to the loo."

As I stood up, with his help, I felt fuzzy. "Didn't even have a drink."

"What?" he said as I shuffled towards the bedroom.

I winced. "A headache like this ought to at least come after a night on the town."

He didn't say anything until we got to the loo. "Maybe I'd better… uhm, help?" he asked hesitantly. "You don't seem very steady."

"I can use the toilet by _myself_. _You_ can stand outside." He watched as I started to undo my trousers. "You may go now. No peeping."

"Aye, aye, Captain." He closed the door behind himself.

I lowered myself to the toilet and felt sickness. I snagged the bin and pulled it close if I needed to vomit. No, not… not… ulp, I forced gorge back down, but it had been a close thing. "Rachel, just… get through the next 48 hours. That'll see you through."

I finished, flushed, and washed my hands and face. Water didn't quite take the acid burning from my throat but it helped. The eyebrow was nasty, along with puffiness in my upper eyelid. "Ick," I said as I examined the damage. I flexed my left knee which felt stiff and sore, so as I opened the door, Colin saw me standing on one leg.

"Stork imitation?"

"Knee hurts."

He took me by the hands and guided me to the bed. "Lay you down, girl." He slipped off my shoes then gently made me get on my back. At some other time, it would have been romantic.

I stared at Ben, no Colin. _Colin_. "The second time you been in my bedroom."

He held up three fingers. "Third."

"Okay," I shrugged.

He left and then came back with the ice bag. "Here. Put this back on your eye."

I plumped my pillow and did as he said. "You don't have to stick around."

"I'll see to the pub. Make sure Mike is cookin' and not takin' too many smoke breaks, then I'll come back. Get you something to eat."

Just the mention of food brought nausea back. "No – not yet."

"Feel sick?"

"I'm fine."

He walked to the door. "Like I said, I'll be back. Give me a little while. Ten minutes?"

"Yeah, sure." All I wanted was to just lie here and not move; make this headache go away. What had happened was getting fuzzier, but one thing stood out in my memory. The girl in the street, dark green jumper, ice cream in hand, had been screaming.

 **Author's note:**

 **I confess that this episode, and the assignment Dr. Timoney gave Martin and Louisa, confused me.**

 **I'm no therapist but it seemed to me rather harsh to force it on them. Did she mean to shock them? Perhaps. So the above is my take on that session, and the aftermath.**


	43. Chapter 43

Chapter 43 - Tales

I got a call that my car was ready to be picked up, so impulsively, I called for a taxi to take me into town. I asked the driver to drop me off at the overlook. Penhale, the local cop, was standing there looking out to sea. I knew him from my accident. My he had been insistent to do a breath test. Poor him, when I was carted away.

He greeted me. "Dr. Timoney. You recovered from the crash?"

"Yes. Just came in to pick up my car." I joined him at the iron railing. "What are we looking at?"

He sighed. "Been offered a transfer. I suppose I was just thinkin'. Funny, the things we never notice when we're here; the things we'll miss."

"I lost a pair of flip-flops once on a beach in Spain. Years ago. They were bright pink… horrible things." I'd gone on holiday and when I got down there found I'd forgotten beach footwear. For fur euro I bought the only pair that fit (I have long feet) in a local shop so there I was wearing an electric blue one-piece swimsuit with those horrid pink things on my feet as I pranced on the hot sand. Maybe I left them behind on purpose? I cold have bought a matching suit I suppose.

"But you're still thinking about them," he said. "Even though you're somewhere else a part of you is still there." He shook head sadly. "It's good to have someone that understands."

It occurred to me that I needed more paracetamols, for I'd been eating them like sweets. Without a word to the policeman, I turned away and marked down the hill to the chemist. In the back of my mind I must have ben thinking that at least I ought to have said goodbye. He'd seemed lonely. Now, I needed paracetamols and flip-flops. Right.

I pulled open the shop door and there was no shopkeeper in sight. "Hello?" I called.

Footsteps sounded on stairs in the back and she appeared. She was buttoning up her blouse and she looked flushed and embarrassed, but also excited. "Sorry. I was just seeing to my husband. How can I help you?"

"I need some paracetamol." I had almost added flip-flops to my order. Flip-flops? That would be silly. She'll think I'm daft.

"Yes! And something for that nasty bruise. Some aloe vera will help that eyebrow. Where did you get that bump?"

"I crashed my car," I sighed.

"Oh dear." She put a bottle and a tube on the counter. "That'll be eight and fifty."

I fished out a twenty and handed the bill over. "Thankfully, _Louisa_ was there to help and the policeman took me to see Dr. Ellingham."

"Yes, this village is _very_ lucky to have such a skilled doctor," she said earnestly. "Oh, the stories I could tell…"

"He's a client of mine you know," I said quietly.

"Oh, Hm?"

" _And_ Louisa. _Couples'_ counseling. They're trying their best to find a way to make their marriage work."

"Really?" she hissed.

"Hm. It's _quite_ a challenge I can tell you!" Now why was I saying these things? I was telling tales out of church.

"Dear." She glanced furtively around the shop but no one was there but us. "It's _her_ , isn't it?"

Before I could answer, the bell on the shop door jangled as it opened. Ruth come in, so I greeted her with a cheery, "Dr. Ellingham!"

"Dr. Timoney."

"It's been far too long! I hear you're retired now."

"More or less."

"I hope you're keeping busy. Inactivity can be dangerous for the mind. Starts to decay."

"My mind is fine, thank you," she said rather sharply. "How about you? How are you feeling after your accident?"

"Oh, bump and scrape. It was nothing." I faced the chemist. "Actually, can I get some paracetamol?"

The woman started. "You've… you've asked for that already."

"So, I have. Sorry." I put my hand to my head which was pounding. "This headache's got me turned upside down a little." I smiled at Ruth. "Now it's _me_ that's going senile and _not_ you!"

Ruth said, "That's because I'm not going senile." Her lips were pressed together. She was cross.

I nodded to her. "Had a car accident." I reached over the counter and took the bottle of pills from the chemist and left.

As the door was closing I heard the woman say, "Now she's forgotten her change."

The local garage was packed with bits of cars, mostly old. When I entered a mechanic was beating away on a dented piece of fender. "I hope that's not mine!" I laughed.

The bald man put down his hammer and I admired the way his muscles moved under his dirty sleeves. He reminded me of… Charlie… no Colin.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Rachel."

"Who?"

"Rachel Timoney. You've fixed my car? You did call."

"Oh yeah," he grunted. "The front bumper was moshed, but I found one in a reclaim yard. And the rad panel was creased. I could fix that. Lucky it was metal and not that plastic rubbish. Some elbow grease and a lick o' paint, was most of it. Good as new!"

"Good. Can't get anywhere without a care… I mean _car_ … out here."

"You down from London?"

I nodded. "Yes. My accent?"

"That and the car info. You're lucky I could find the parts. A car like that?" he sniffed. "Not so many about." He inspected me up and down. "What you smiling at?"

I shrugged. "I don't rightly know. Just happy?" I did feel happy… but for a headache.

He grinned. "Plenty of folks come here – from town. Mostly day trippers or weekers."

"Weekers? I'm don't know what that means."

"Yeah. Come down for a week, or a couple, and then _phftt_ back to work. They get their fill of pasties and ice cream, buy junk in the shops, and get the kiddies sunburned." He sighed. "I'm not complaining. It's their business, and yours, that keeps me going. Kind of grim here abouts rest of the year."

"So, you're not happy in your work. Work is a virtue!" I dug in my purse for my chequebook. "How much is it? The repairs?"

He named a sum which took my breath away. "Really?"

"Sorry. Like I said – hard to get parts. And I did get it fixed up in four days."

"Yes… yes, you did. Can I see it?"

"Round the side."

He walked with me to my car. "Oh, there it is." Seeing my repaired car, I got weepy.

"Hey? You alright?"

I wiped my eyes. "I almost ran a little girl over in that."

He shook his head. "Narrow streets in the village. Somebody told me the the ice cream van was in the way." He sniffed. "You got lucky. I'll get the keys and the bill."

I opened the door and got in. I put my hands on the steering wheel and felt a tingle. "Vrooom. Rach, no speeding."

The man came back and gave me the keys. "I drove it around the block a few times to make sure it's all good." He held a paper out to me. "Here's the paper work."

"Paper?"

"The bill. Take it and I'll go over it."

I stared at the paper he gave me, but none of the words or numbers made sense. "Can you explain all this?"

He pointed out things with a grimy finger. "Parts here. Labor down here. Tax. Total on the bottom."

I was trying to decipher squiqqly lines with a £ in front "I don't understand any of this." It might have been Martian or Chinese.

"All told, £287.35. I can take cheque or card; cash I'll give you 5% discount."

"Oh, cheque I think." I had dropped my cheque book in my lap. "Let me get a pen."

He handed me one and I stared at the book, not knowing what to do.

"Miss? You feeling okay?"

"Why are you asking?"

"Well you're staring at your cheque book like you never seen one before."

"Oh, kind of… _tired_ I suppose." I yawned. "Will you take a card? Cash work?"

He nodded. "Right. Say, you haven't been drinking have you?" He was looking at me funny.

"Certainly not!" I practically threw my bank card at him. "Here."

He looked at me suspiciously.

"I told you I am _not_ drunk! Or drugged! I just have _brutal_ headache! Now hurry! Go on!"

The man backed away. "Let me run this through the machine."

Eventually he came back, when I was yawning. "Miss, you don't look so good," he said. "Sign here."

I took the pen and clipboard and scribbled something on it. "There," I said as I took my card back. "Can I go now?"

"Sure," he gulped. "I can get my missus to run you home if you're not feeling alright. We can bring the car back to you some other day."

"Certainly not! This is _my_ car, and I need it." I waved him back, then started the motor and drove away.


	44. Chapter 44

Chapter 44 – Evening

As I drove through the village I had to go right past the school, and I saw Louisa in the street. On a whim I stopped the car and called out to her. "Louisa!"

"Ooh, hello," she answered as she came over to my car.

"I've had an excellent idea for you and Dr. Ellingham. I need to see you both this evening."

"Why? What's the idea?"

That was a good question. I dropped my voice. "I… can't talk about it now. But, it's _very_ important that you're both there and you _can't_ be late."

"Uhm, yeah. I suppose so. What time?"

"Seven thirty. See you then." As I drove away I was smiling, for it was the most brilliant idea I'd ever had in couples' therapy. Marvelous. "I can retire on this!" I chuckled all the way back to my house.

000

It was later in the day and all I wanted to do was to sit and read, but when I tried to scan a page, the letters didn't make much sense. The bell rang just then so I went to the door. Martin and Louisa were outside, so I opened it. "Yes?"

Louisa said, "We're here."

"I can see that," I said back.

"Well, you said that you wanted us to come see you."

I asked them to come? Tonight? "Yes, of course. Come in," I said. What did they want? They must be confused. Thurs… no Tuesday… no _Thursday_ was the usual appointment… I think.

They followed me to my front room, so I dropped down on the two-seater, and seeing them standing there aflutter, I patted the cushion next to me. "Sit." She sat down in my usual chair, and then Martin sat next to me. "So, _how_ are we?" I asked.

"I suppose we're intrigued," she responded.

"That is an _excellent_ word." That gave me an idea, so I said to him, "Martin a word that's similar to _intrigued_."

"Uhm, interested," he said. " _Strongly_ interested."

She said, "That's two words."

"Yes, yes, I know," he shot back.

Louisa took him to task. "Well, she only said _a_ word."

He looked at me. "Dr. Timoney is this the _excellent_ idea?"

I stared at him, having no idea what he was on about. Idea? What idea?

"You said you had an excellent idea," Louisa added, "for us."

"I did say that, yes." I stood up. "I want you to stand up and start marching."

"Why?" she asked.

"Think about it. The brain controls the body but the body influences the brain." I started marching in place but with each step my head began to pound, harder than it ever had before. "Oh, um." I began to rub my forehead.

'Dr. Timoney are you alright?" he said.

"Both all and right. Thank you." I sat back down as the room seemed to spin. "Oh…" I moaned.

"Dr. Timoney?"

I looked down at the floor, thinking that holding my head and neck immobile might help the pain in my head.

"Dr. Timoney?" He was snapping his fingers and the sound was like a gunshot going off in the room. "Follow my finger."

I knew what he was asking but I could not, or would not, respond. Now my ears were ringing! Stop!

He told me again, "My finger! Follow it. Hm. I think you might have damaged the frontal area of your brain when you crashed your car. That would explain your strange behavior."

I told him, " _My_ behavior is _fine_. You're just ignoring the issues, _as always_."

Next he said, "She needs a CT scan. I'll go call an ambulance."

He left and I heard him muttering out in the entry.

I felt someone sit down next to me. From the scent it was Louisa. "Oh, Dr. Timoney," she said. I felt her take my hand, but I could not see her, for the headache had blossomed into a full blown ocular migraine and I was essentially blind at that point (I knew that my brain was not able to process the information. Strangely I could tell that part of my brain was working, just not all of it).

Later, I heard the front door creak open, and voices entered the room along with clumping footsteps.

"There she is," Martin said. "Dazed and confused. She hit her head in a car accident the other day. Concussed brain, no doubt."

Martin as always - the expert. But he was right because the part of my brain that was working had been trying to put two and two together; math was out of the question, but I knew that things were not correct in my head. It was all a hodge-podge of memories, feelings, and impressions. By then I was starting to get vision back, and I saw a medical stretcher on wheels, covered with a white sheet and I began to moan. "No, no, no, no… oh God no." Fear, the most primal of feelings hit me like that. Not hospital!

Louisa patted my hand. "It'll be fine. Just fine."

"I… don't want… hospital. No! Not again!"

A man bent down and began to flash a light in my eyes. "Hello. My name is Dave. We're here to take you to hospital. I understand you were in a car crash."

The light hurt and I winced. "I can see that. Switch it off."

The man looked up at Martin. "She seems…"

"Irritable," Louisa told him. "And confused. Not herself." I felt her hand tighten on mine and I squeezed it in return.

I looked at her and smiled. "Louisa… about that list…"

"Don't worry about the list," she answered.

"But… listen… you don't have to…" Something about a list - the _bloody_ list. It was important, but I didn't know why.

The man interrupted my thoughts as he peered around. "Now this isn't a domestic is it? A little slap and tickle got out 'a hand?"

"What?" Martin exploded. "I am Dr. Ellingham, you dolt! This woman is my _patient_. Now you listen to me. She was in car crash three days…"

"Four days back," Louisa corrected.

"Yes, four days ago. She has a moderate to severe concussion. She will need IV fluids, a CT scan, an X-ray as well, and monitoring for up for 72 hours."

Dave and his partner, a beefy sort with a ruddy face and, looked at one another. "Right." They came towards me and tried to get me off the sofa.

"No, no, not hospital…" I started to say, as I recoiled, pushing them away. "Go away!"

Louisa blurted out, "Martin, she's _frightened_."

Martin got down in front of me and looked me in the face. "Dr. Timoney, you must go to hospital for a scan. This will give the doctors information to assess the state of your brain." He pulled up my sleeve to get to my wrist to take a pulse and I saw him start when he saw the needle marks from the IVs. "Are you a drug user?"

I shook my head. "Had an operation." I turned to look at Louisa. "True."

She put her arm around me. "You'll be fine. Now let's get you to hospital by ambulance and then you can get better. Hm?"

I was afraid, and I wanted my mum, but suddenly a man's voice was saying, "What in bloody hell is going on in here? Rachel?"

I saw Colin. "Colin, I'm hurt, my head…"

"She's been complaining about a headache," he muttered as he turned to Martin. "I'm Colin, a… friend. Now you tell me, what is going on!"

Martin stood straighter. "Right. I'm Dr. Ellingham, and we have been… that is… I examined Dr. Timoney just after her car crash. Obviously, her brain has been concussed, and more than a little bit. She has been disorganized, irritable, confused, as well as not making any sense."

Colin took that in, then came over to me. "Come on luv. Let's get you sorted."

He and Louisa got me upright, and then I let them put me on the stretcher. They carted me out and into the ambulance, and Colin was with me the whole way.

Louisa got my handbag and handed it to Colin. "She might need this. While you call me later? Tell me how she's doing?" They traded mobile numbers, as the ambulance man put a big IV into my arm, while Martin supervised.

He inspected their work. "Dr. Timoney…"

"Sorry, Martin," I managed to say. "Tell Louisa… about the list… don't…"

Colin pushed Martin away as he climbed into the ambulance with me. "Now Rach, enough of that." He waved to Dave. "Come on now. Move it!"

Dave got in too, and the doors were pushed closed. I got a glimpse of Louisa waving, with Martin next to her. In the crack of the closing door I saw her reach out for his hand.

"You'll be fine," Colin whispered in my ear. He brushed hair from my face, as he cradled my hand.

"I hope so," I answered.


	45. Chapter 45

Chapter 45 – Colin

The imaging tech got me positioned on the CT table. "Comfy?"

Since arriving at hospital I had been passed from hand to hand like a hot potato until they finally shunted me down to the basement to the x-ray rooms. The table was cold and hard and the room was chilly and dimly lit, and there was a plastic cradle which held my head like an egg on a spoon. She put a light strap over my waist and lightly fastened it. 'This is so you don't fall off."

"Yeah." Or run away. The CT machine hulked huge and ring-shaped behind my head.

She examined the band on my wrist. "And your name is Rachel Timoney? Doctor? What kind?"

More questions. I had to concentrate to make even small talk. "Yes. Psychiatrist."

"And you had a car accident?"

"Hit my head."

She smiled down at me. "We'll be taking forty or so images on your head and neck. Try to lay still during the scans. You will hear a few noises from the machine as the scanner moves around. Don't be concerned by that."

"Sure."

She picked up a handset of some kind and did something for the table because I was laying on slid backwards, pushing my head and shoulders, into the machine. Then she left me there in the dim room.

"Dr. Timoney?" came from a speaker near my feet. "Can you hear me?"

"I can."

"Good. The scans will start in a few seconds. Just relax and breathe normally. If you have to swallow, do it slowly. And don't move."

The machine started humming, and I could hear motors around something moving over and around me. I knew that beams of radiations were bathing my head in a narrow fan to deduce what I'd done to my head and brain. Soon enough they were done with me, then back onto a stretcher and back into an elevator.

Back in A&E, the admitting doctor was on the telephone. "Right," he was saying, while my head was still buzzing from the CT scanner. "No fractures? I see. Bleeds?" he asked.

He hung up the phone. "Radiologist does not see any bleeds in your brain or fractures to your skull or jaw. I'd say that you got off rather lucky. Did you lose consciousness?"

"I…" I stared at Colin who was hanging on every word. "No."

The doctor looked at my chart on a clipboard. "And you are how old?"

"Thirty two," I told him.

He put down the charts and pulled out a penlight, which he flashed across my eyes. "Follow my light." He then examined the bruise on my right eyebrow. "This was from the steering wheel?"

"I suppose."

He went back to my chart, reading it he said, "And you became confused."

"Yes," Colin said.

He turned to look at Colin. "You the husband?"

"No. Neighbor… and a friend."

The doctor nodded. "Good. Well, Dr. Timoney I want to admit you for 24 hours. Just to make sure that there are no other symptoms of this concussion. We will also start fluids and give you IV meds to calm you. That fine with you?"

I was gathering my thoughts, such as they were. I didn't want to stay. I wanted to go home. But when I looked at Colin he was grimly nodding at me.

"Might be for the best, Rachel," Colin said to me. He looked at the doc. "I can stay? Keep her company? That alright?"

The doctor looked down at me. "Is that alright with you if he stays?"

I sighed. "Oh yes."

The doctor left the treatment alcove and Colin scooted his chair over to the bed. "Rachel, when I saw the ambulance at your house, I didn't know what to think."

"I… got hurt Colin. My brain is bo… llixed up."

"Yeah."

An orderly came in after a while. "Dr. Timoney, I'm here to move you up to the observation ward." He busied himself preparing the wheeled bed for motion. Then he looked at Colin. "Sir, she'll be in room 3107." He looked at his watch. "Maybe half an hour or more to get her moved, settled, and checked in. The café is still open if you want to get a meal."

Colin stood. "I'll do that." He took my hand. "Later… uhm, see you soon."

I tried to smile at him, but then he left and the orderly wheeled me away.

The usual things that happen in hospitals happened. They took me upstairs to a room, nurses and doctors came by - all with new questions, a janitor came in the empty the waste, and finally a med tech tried to thread a tube into my arm, but had some difficulty in finding a vein.

"Poor arm," she said after she got the finally tube in place. "You've had IVs before."

"Oh yes. Lots."

The woman smiled. "Don't worry. We'll take good care of you."

I sighed to her. "Can you turn the lights down as you leave? I'm tired."

The room lights got dim and I slept. Later I was aware that someone was sitting next to my bed, and he was speaking softly.

"A fine mess; a right fine mess. Takes me back, you know?" the voice sighed. "And when I saw the ambulance I will admit I had a bad moment. I flashed back to when Tim was… hurt when surfing. It was all there, you know? Like a rocket – straight back into my head. My stomach hurt, my head pounded, my hands starting shaking and I got all sweaty."

I turned my head slightly and recognized Colin's face in the murkiness.

He sighed deeply. "I felt the same when I realized you were down at the beach, in the dusk, and the bloody tide was coming in. Silly woman. You could've drowned. Too damn dangerous out there. Just like my Tim." I heard him clear his throat. "Thank God that didn't happen."

I turned my head some more and he stopped speaking when he saw me move. "Oh you're awake."

"A little. Can I have some water?"

He held a cup and straw before my face and I took a sip. "What time is it?"

"Half ten."

"It's that late?"

"You been asleep for nearly three hours. You missed dinner." He pushed the bed table to me. "Here's your dinner tray. I had 'em wrap it in kitchen foil to keep it warm. Hungry?"

"A little. Where's the bed button?"

"Here." He handed me the control.

I changed the bed angle so I was half-sitting. "Maybe I could eat something."

"Soup, crackers, a green salad, and fruit. They put you on an easy diet – in case your tummy is sickly."

I peered at what was on the tray. "How about some soup?"

He opened the cover on the bowl and the smell of chicken and noodles in broth drifted out.

"Let me try that." I managed few spoonfuls until my energy gave out. "You were talking about your brother Tim?"

"You heard that?"

"Some of it. "You said… well… that you were glad I didn't drown."

"I did, yeah."

I put the spoon down and reached for his hand. "Me too."

He folded my hand into his. "More soup?"

"No, I'm fine."

He cocked his head. "What are we gonna do with you?"

I shrugged. "Time will tell." I laced my fingers with his. "Tell me about your brother."

He smiled. "Tim was… he was a great kid."

"You miss him."

"I do."

"And it eats at you that he's gone." At least part of my brain seemed to be coming back to normal workings.

Colin shook his head. "Funny. I think I'm over it and then it comes back. At night, or in the day, doesn't matter what I'm doing either. It comes out of nowhere. Bang. Right there in my head. The phone call. The trip to the hospital. Calling our mum. Watching him die. And then a funeral." He wiped his eyes. "We cremated him and put him in the ocean. What he wanted."

"Ceremonies can be important." I gulped for the ceremony I had not been able to engage in. "We all lose people. Their loss can be felt in many ways."

Colin got up and half-hugged me, careful of the tube in my other arm. "Now, now, Rachel. Enough of this. You need to let that mind of yours rest."

I kissed his cheek. "Later then." I looked at the tray of food and it was totally unappetizing. "You think you rustle up some ice cream? That would go down a treat."

He let me go and stood over my bed. "Sure. Vanilla?"

"Chocolate would be tasty."

"Back in a jiff," he told me. "Don't you go away."

"Where would I go?" I smiled. "You make sure to come back."

He went to the door and looked back. "Count on it Rachel."


	46. Chapter 46

Chapter 46 – Farewell

It was a beautiful day as I walked up the hill. I saw Louisa and Martin out in front of surgery, he obviously just arriving and she leaving. She was reading from a piece of paper, and I hoped it was not 'the list' homework.

It had been five days since I'd last seen them and a lot had happened. I was in hospital for two days (not just one) and then three days at home under the watchful eye of Colin or Liz. Other neighbors had pitched in to 'sit with' the local, and barmy, head-shrinker. I finally suggested to Colin that he did not have to babysit me.

"Babysit?" he laughed. "You're no baby Rachel. I think you're a very grownup girl."

Was I? I looked at him as we sat looking at the sea. "I try to be."

He chuckled again. "Not that there aren't times that we all need a little help. Even us grownups."

I took his hand. "Thank you."

"No, thank you."

"Oh? What for?"

"About the time you tried to go swimming at sunset?"

"Ah, the high tide."

He squeezed my hand. "I've been pretty much a loner."

"Yes, I sensed that. But there you were saving me. That took a lot of pluck. And I appreciate it."

He squinted. "I couldn't save my brother. But when you didn't come back to your house that night, I knew somethin' was amiss."

He'd told me how he'd skipped the surfing the day his brother was injured, and then Tim had died. "You can't keep eating yourself up over Tim," I told him. "You have to…"

"I know. Move ahead." He looked at me intently. "But where to? Out there on the sea? Back to London? Or somewhere around here?"

That was the question - a question for me - and I could not answer it immediately, but I kept holding his hand as we watched the sunset.

My mental state had improved greatly but my doctor thought it best if I spent a few weeks not working so my brain would heal fully. I decided to take a graceful leave from my professional entanglements. Psychiatrist exits stage left. So, here I was facing the Ellingham's trying to extract myself from their lives.

Martin looked up as I approached. "Dr. Timoney," he said, obviously surprised.

I stopped on the stair up to the house terrace and looked up at the two of them. "Dr. Ellingham, Louisa… sorry to interrupt, but I just wanted to come and thank you in person for correctly diagnosing and… helping me. I hope my behavior wasn't too 'out there.'"

"No, no, not at all," she said. "It was understandable considering your condition."

"Sadly, I will need to take some time off work," I told them.

Martin glanced at Louisa and he said, "Yeah." No doubt thinking about neurological functions and the effect of post-concussive syndromes, or some such thing.

She said, "Actually we've decided not to continue with therapy. So… we're having dinner tonight and we've gonna have a sort of make-or-break discussion. It just feels like we've reached that point really."

I thought about what I knew. He was shy and insecure, at least about all matters not medical. She was just as uncertain about relationships, with her fractured upbringing parking in a spot not that far from his own. They both were retreaters: he would withdraw into his head, while she would physically run away. Perhaps they could get past all that, but ingrained behaviors are extremely difficult to change. "Well, good luck," I said.

"I don't think we'll need luck," she countered.

"I think you might," I said before I thought about it. The part of my brain that controlled impulses was still not quite fully in operation. "You are without a _doubt_ one of the most challenging cases I've ever come across."

Smiling, she answered, "Well you're only thirty-two."

Her words hurt. Yes, I was only thirty-two, but I'd had a full share of _events_ so far. "Well, it's been interesting working with you both," I answered.

I could see what Edith Montgomery had seen in Martin. He was terribly intelligent, and she'd found that useful in Medical School. Only much later had she realized the possibilities that lay with him. But now Martin was Louisa's; heart and soul.

He looked down at me with a thoughtful and determined expression. Despite her comment she looked happy and beautiful. So, there they were. Would they succeed? There was no doubt that no matter the outcome I'd be able to find out, if not from village gossips, then from Ruth.

But when Louisa said make-or-break, she had not been sad. So, there _must be_ hope for them. Not just hope, but also confidence the way she spoke about it their dinner meeting.

I sighed inside. We are all humans, and we make mistakes. Was I wrong to accept them as patients? My experience with them was troubled both by frustration and a start-and-stop movement. Yet here they were smiling (at least she was) and he didn't seem to be the grumpy tosser that I'd heard many say about him. They were both scared, but don't we all get scared sometimes?

This had been a strange interlude in my life. I'd run away to Cornwall for a break, and I'd found that in spades. I'd run across people who were desperate to make a change, to improve relationships in _some_ way; and that could be to either repair a relationship or to end it.

I looked at them again; he all stiff backed in his suit (but he always stood like that) and she in a pretty red floral print dress. They looked… comfortable. Good; a good sign.

I nodded to them in farewell. "Goodbye," I said, then I turned, walking down the steps and was away. Gulls screamed overhead and I felt like a great weight had been lifted from my shoulders. It was the feeling I got at the end of school term. In spite of all the admonitions of my profession to 'keep your distance' from patients, I had made connections. Not quite bonded with the Ellingham's, of course - could never be friends - but there would always be _something_ ; after poking around inside someone's psyche how could there not be? And, as Louisa always reminded people, he was a very good doctor.

Martin Ellingham was now a GP and no longer a surgeon. When he worked as a surgeon, slicing and dicing, he'd likely _never_ made _any_ real connections with his patients; no not patients – _cases_ – cases under his scalpel and large gloved hands. I peeked backwards and saw Louisa leave the house and start to walk downhill following me. I hoped she was only heading to school and not racing after me.

I slowed my pace as I heard her clip-clopping footsteps getting closer. She came up beside me, so to be polite I nodded to her.

She said, "Dr. Timoney, I hope that you recover properly."

"I will… just…" I looked downhill and saw Colin standing outside the Chemists. "Need a breather."

She caught the way I had glanced at him, and I saw her smile. "Colin…" I blurted out. "He's…"

"Your friend."

"Yes, my friend." I looked at her from the corner of my eye.

"More than that?"

I nodded. "Exactly."

"When I spoke to him, uhm, the night you went to hospital, he was… very… nice." She smiled more genuinely. "And was very concerned about you." She tipped her chin towards him. "He might be very pleasant to have around."

"Right. A good word that - _pleasant_." I stopped walking so she did as well. "Mrs. Ellingham, Louisa, I hope that the last assignment – the _list_ of advantages of ending your marriage – I do hope that you understand that it was a step to make you realize what investments you had already made in your marriage? Your time together, your young son, the improvements you have made… well. If I'd been able to continue the counseling…"

She touched my arm and shook her head. "Don't worry. We'll be fine." She tossed her head and looked up hill to their home. "That list assignment?" she shook her head. "I couldn't write anything at all."

I relaxed. "Good."

As we looked at one another for a few seconds I think in those moments we understood one another very well. She had tried to run away to London and later to Spain, but she came back – to the village – her village, she had reminded me more than once, and to Martin. I too had run, but I think… well, I'll have to see what the future holds. I wasn't exactly _planning_ on returning to London anytime soon.

"Farewell Dr. Timoney," Louisa added. "And I hope that things work out for you and… your friend Colin."

"Thank you. You too, Louisa – all the best. Tell Martin what I said about the list, would you?"

"Yes. I will."

"And good luck tonight."

"Thanks." She glanced at her watch. "Gosh. Better rush. School's waiting. Bye."

Louisa and Martin were still the most challenging case I've ever come across, but… but they might just get their act together and succeed as a couple. "Goodbye, Louisa."

"Must rush now. Bye," she said, then she hurriedly left me, as I looked past her to where Colin stood waiting.

Sometimes we all need a little therapy and moving down to Cornwall had been part of mine. As I looked at Colin, I had a hunch that he too was the best therapy I might ever have. "Well, then, Rachel," I said softly. "Let's see how it goes, shall we? And don't be afraid."

Colin was smiling at me, and I was smiling as well, as I happily jogged to him.


	47. Chapter 47

Chapter 47 – Epilog

I had just left my office at Truro Hospital and was walking down the hall when someone called out my name. I turned and saw it was Louisa Ellingham.

"Dr. Timoney? Oh, my goodness…" she went on, "Uhm, why this is _quite_ a surprise." Her eyes goggled at me.

I put a hand on my swollen belly. "Hello, Mrs. Ellingham."

She smiled (and it was genuine). "This is a surprise. I had no idea… uhm, that…" Her eyes flicked down to my left hand, so I raised it to show off my wedding ring.

"Yes, I am married; to Colin. And pregnant."

She gave me a quick hug. "Oh, I am so happy for you. When was all this?"

"Well, Colin and I… we found that we were… in love, the word is."

"Well, thank goodness for that!"

"It was a few months after my car accident that we got together. Married soon after. How are you and Martin? And your son?"

"Fine, fine. He," she sighed and lowered her voice to a whisper. "Martin's blood phobia is worse I'm afraid." She wrinkled her nose. "But he is trying to deal with it."

I nodded to her, for that is something which we'd not had time to dig into. I was never certain that his self-diagnosis that it was 'a reaction to a high-pressure surgical environment and when I realized that my cases were people, and they had families, I could not continue as a surgeon.'

I think, instead, that he had a breakdown as a consequence of being an unwanted child and thusly made no normal connection to his _parents_ or to _people_ , his drive to excel at surgery - a profession which his father practically forced him into – and that was an unconscious competition with dear old pater, and a deep-rooted sense of insecurity, plus a realization that his patients had families – and he had none. That's when the automaton surgeon had crashed and burned. This flashed through my head quickly, for I had thought long and hard about Martin and his relationship with Louisa, as well as the rest of humanity.

I said to her, "Well, that may take some time to get sorted. But, more important, how are the both of you, with your…"

"Issues?" she replied.

Just then a stretcher was wheeled near, with clattering casters banging away. I pulled Louisa out of the hall, and into a cross aisle. "I had wondered. Strictly _professional_ interest, of course."

She nodded. "Sure. We live in the same house, same bed…" her head whipped around and she bit her lip, "and I think… pretty sure actually, that I'm pregnant."

"I see. Have been trying to have another child?"

"No, not exactly. But… well, those hugging exercises seem to have borne fruit!" she snickered.

"Congratulations then." My baby kicked me and I lurched. "Oof. I think that was an elbow, or a foot."

"When are you due?"

I smiled. "Five months along now, so just about on the first anniversary of our wedding."

Louisa grinned. "I see. Well, these things _do_ happen."

Of course, she had no idea that Colin and I had actively tried to get pregnant, so when the test was positive after three months of trying to make a baby I was both overjoyed and concerned. Terrified actually, when my anxieties about the possibility of a successful pregnancy were rushed to the fore by the word PREGNANT on the home pregnancy test.

It took plenty of love and care from my husband, as well as a bit of professional help – and an ultrasound to confirm the foetus was in my uterus where it belonged - for me to accept that I could actually have a baby. Thank the Lord, it was healthy and developing normally, so far, and it was a girl.

Colin gave me strength when I had none, and that in turn gave me courage. Together that went into the delicious mixer of our relationship. It's a strange cake at times, but it works for us. He's not perfect, but neither am I. When I think back, I knew that I loved Colin when he pulled me from the grasp of cold waves on that dark night. Our loving one another grew from his care and concern, and I needed him as much as any of my patients needed therapy. He was my therapist, and I could not have wished for a more gentle and heartfelt one.

I looked up at Louisa and she was glowing with pleasure. "This might seem like prying, but are you… doing well? You and Martin?" I asked.

She smiled. "Oh yes. Happy. We're working on it. I must say that his homecoming was slightly delayed by… well you don't need to know about that…" she bit her lip.

Oh, but I already know, Louisa, because Ruth Ellingham told me; how he'd been kidnapped. "But it came out alright in the end. No harm done." I didn't want her to know that I knew.

She cocked her head with a perplexed look. "Ri…ght."

I checked my watch. "Look, I need to go. I have a meeting in a few minutes."

"You're working here? In hospital?"

"Yes, I'm on staff. And what are _you_ doing over here in Truro?"

"A seminar on Early Childhood Disturbances. It just finished."

"I see." I knew far more than I could, or would say, for Ruth rather off-handedly kept me up-to-date on what her nephew and his family were up to. "So…"

"Yeah," she said. "It was so good to see you. And I mean it."

"Yes, and best wishes – the baby and all."

She hugged me quite hard. "Thanks – and you. Give my congrats to Colin?"

"I will." It didn't feel that strange to be hugged by a former patient, for in some ways Louisa and I were alike. She had been fearful about her marriage, and I had been anxious about a new relationship, as well a logical result – marriage and pregnancy. But here we were, two wives, each of us pregnant, and each involved with medicine. "Do give my best to Martin."

She let me go, and I saw her eyes were shining. "I'm sorry."

"Whatever for?"

She took a deep breath. "I wasn't very fair to you – during our counseling."

"Oh, no, you were fine," I told her and I meant it. "And congrats on that new baby," I whispered to her.

Her hand stole to her abdomen, the way in which mums with a baby onboard will do."I'm sure that Martin will be surprised," she muttered.

"And pleased, I am certain," I told her.

"Thank you. Yes, yes, you're right." She brightened. "Bye."

"Goodbye, Mrs. Ellingham."

"Dr. Timoney," she said, with a trace of a bow, and then we parted.

Life is funny; winds can blow us this way and that, but if we are very lucky, we end up in the proper place.

As I watched Louisa walk away I thought I had been unfair to her and Martin. I'd mentally given them only a chance of success of less than 10%, but it seemed that they were together, and not biting one another's heads off. 'Working on it,' she said to me. Isn't that the secret of any relationship? To keep working on it? Hope was still will them, as well as courage.

The baby squirmed and I smiled as I rubbed the spot where it pushed and wiggled. "There, there. You're fine sweetheart."

I watched Louisa as she went down the corridor, until she turned a corner, her steps firm and confident. "Goodbye, Louisa," I said aloud. "Fair winds."

\- Coda -

"Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of a lover, everyone becomes a poet." – Plato

"Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength and loving someone deeply gives you courage." – Lao Tzu

"Love doesn't just sit there, like a stone, it has to be made, like bread; remade all the time, made new." – Ursula K. Le Guin, _The Lathe of Heaven_

\- The End -

 **Thank you for reading my mostly 'off-screen' tale of Dr. Rachel Timoney. I was interested in the character and wished to know more about her. In Doc Martin Series 7, Rachel was a vehicle to perform counseling with Louisa and Martin, and not much else. My story is the result. Why did she leave London for Cornwall? I decided it had to be traumatic, and she must already know** **Ruth Ellingham.**

 **Starting with Edith Montgomery was the logical place and I found the woman to be slightly greasy and repellent, as many do. Writing about her outside of the Doc Martin canon did not endear the ginger doctor to me.**

 **Tregardock Beach (** **50°37'21.7"N 4°46'16.6"W), the beach where Rachel almost was taken by the sea,** **is just west of Tregardock Farm, slightly southwest of the tiny hamlet of Treligga. As I wrote, there is a steep and rocky trail off the Coastal Path down to the sands. Swimming is not recommended because of tides and submerged rocks.**

 **As far as I know there is no pub, take-away, or co-op market in Treligga. The home in which Rachel lived** _ **is**_ **in Treligga and was brilliantly located by Kate Kennedy (see her marvelous website: portwennonline atsign com). She told me by email where to find the house, which is a converted chapel.**

 **I have never been to Cornwall, but hope to get there someday, so any mistakes of place, language, or custom can be dropped squarely on my American head. Nor am I an expert in psychiatry or counseling. But I have researched the matter; no doubt poorly. Again, blame the author!**

 **I must give a special thank you to Snowsie2011 (Nathalie) for telling me that 'she wanted to know more about Colin.' That made me sit down and define his backstory. It actually only took about a dozen questions which I then had to answer. Given that sketchy roadmap, he got 'skin on his bones.'**

 **Colin, if you recall, was the fictional name that Al Large gave himself in an on-line dating service. I explore Al and Morwenna in my story 'When Colin Met Nefertari.'**

 **So once again I have dived into the magical Portwenn-i-verse, and now it is time to emerge and work on other stories, and other hobbies. Thank you for reading my stories, and for your reviews, many of which are positive and insightful. Sometimes you readers 'see' things which I do not! Go figure. But reviews are what fanfiction authors need to keep us going (it gets awfully lonely plugging away on a keyboard).**

 **The characters, places and situations of** ** _Doc Martin,_** **are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story makes no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

 **Thanks for reading and perhaps we'll meet in Portwenn (aka Port Isaac) someday!**

 **Cheers,**

 **Rob (robspace54)**

 **p.s. Aren't we sooooo lucky to have Doc Martin? :)  
**


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